


A Grievous Miracle

by DaisyK44



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Kind of a Happy Ending, Suicidal thoughts (brief)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 60,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyK44/pseuds/DaisyK44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Marius wasn't the only revolutionary to survive the barricade?<br/>AU where Enjolras also survives</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first full length Les Mis fic! It gets pretty angsty at moments, so bear with me. There's also the tiniest hint of Enjoltaire in here. I took a mix of inspiration from the book and the musical/movie, although I picture the characters as they are in the movie when I write.

            He is surrounded. The guards block the doorway with their guns pointed straight at him. There is no way out.

            Even if there was, Enjolras wouldn’t take it.  He can see the bodies of Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly laying on the floor in front of them. Only moments ago had he watched three of his closest friends crumple from gunfire below. He’d been standing right next to Courfeyrac, yet the bullets missed him.

            Now his time comes. His fingers clutch the red flag that he had hoped would symbolize freedom and democracy. Instead, it symbolizes death and loss. But Enjolras is ready. He keeps his fiery blue eyes open; he wants to see the bullets as they come at him and pierce his body. He deserves it for leading his friends to their deaths.

            Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a mop of messy black curls. The stench of alcohol fills his nostrils. Grantaire, who has been passed out drunk for most of the fight, stumbles into his view. His green eyes are wide, and Enjolras can’t tell if it’s with fear or shock. They lock gazes, but Enjolras can barely look at him. He’s sure his eyes communicate to the drunken cynic that everyone else is dead and Enjolras is about to die, too. He expected to be dead by now, but the guards are holding their fire for the time being to see what will happen next.

            “Long live the Republic!” yells Grantaire, tearing his eyes away from Enjolras to stare down the guards. Enjolras can’t believe what he’s hearing. Grantaire always made it clear that he doesn’t believe in anything, that he only attended the Amis meetings because he believes in Enjolras. But here he is, publicly declaring his support for the cause Enjolras believes so deeply in.

            Grantaire staggers across the room towards Enjolras. He stands beside him and looks directly at the general of the guard.

            “Finish both of us at one blow,” he says bravely. Then, turning to Enjolras, he asks, “Do you permit it?”

            Enjolras realizes something about Grantaire at that moment, but there is no time to think about it further. He reaches out to take Grantaire’s hand and smiles. He raises the red flag in his hand triumphantly, hears the gunshots ring out, and then knows no more.

***

            For the first time since leaving her miserable life at the inn, Cosette finds that she cannot sleep. Instead, she lays in an unfamiliar bed and stares at the ceiling, the events of the past few hours replaying in her mind. Could it be just four hours ago she was laying in her own bed at the house in Rue Plumet, fretting over whether Marius had received her note? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Her father had burst into her room, covered in muck and insisting that she come with him right away. She’d hardly had time to dress before Papa was dragging her out to the carriage. He explained to her during the journey that her beloved Marius had been gravely injured during the barricade and that he was taking her to Monsieur Gillenormand’s house so that she could be closer to him as he recovered. The whole time Cosette felt her heart was going to pound right out of her chest. She knew Marius was fighting at the barricade, knew there was a possibility he’d be hurt or even killed, but it hadn’t felt real until that moment.

            When they arrived at Marius’s grandfather’s house, Marius was unconscious and being tended to by a doctor. Cosette was barely able to see him for five minutes before she was ushered out, but M. Gillenormand gave her and her father rooms to stay in, insisting that they stay as long as it took Marius to recover. The kindness of the old man warms her heart. She doesn’t know much about Marius’s family, as they haven’t had much time for conversation yet, but she doesn’t think his grandfather can be all that bad if he is willing to let people he hardly knows stay in his house.

            Now all Cosette wants to do is go sit with Marius for a while, watch his chest rise up and down to tell her that he is still alive. However, she knows the doctor will just shoo her out again so there is no point. She’s been told he was shot in the collarbone, gotten some sort of bad infection, and needs at least a week’s rest before she’s allowed to see him. It breaks her heart to know he’s in pain and she can’t do anything about it, but it helps that she is still so close to him.

            A knock at the front door interrupts her thoughts. Her guestroom is just off the main staircase, so she can hear it clearly. At first, Cosette doesn’t know what to do. It’s not her house, so it’s not her place to answer. Besides, what if it’s the police? She’s not well educated on the background of the revolution, but she can imagine they’ll be looking to arrest any surviving insurgents.

            Then there’s another knock, louder and more urgent. No one is answering it; Cosette suspects the rest of the household is asleep. After all, it must be past midnight. It makes her nervous, but she supposes someone should answer the door. She slips out of bed, puts on her pink silk dressing gown and a pair of slippers, and hurries down the stairs. Her heart is racing again as she unlocks the front door and pulls it open, but it’s not the police.

            It’s two young peasant women holding up a very bloodied man. Cosette can’t tell if he is unconscious or dead, but the side of the blood and the multiple wounds in his chest make her feel faint. She takes in deep breaths to steady herself.

            “Mademoiselle, please, is this the Gillenormand residence?” asks one of the women. Cosette isn’t sure if she should give away that information yet, so she answers the question with questions of her own.

            “Who are you? And who is that?” she retorts, pointing to the man. At a closer look, Cosette isn’t even sure he can be called a man. He doesn’t look much older than her, and his face is very handsome despite being covered in blood and dirt.

            “I’m Matelote and this is Gibelote. We’re waitresses at the Café Musain,” the woman who spoke previously explains. She glances down at the man weighing down her arms. “This is the leader of the rebellion, Enjolras. He needs a doctor. Our boss, Madame Houcheloup, said to bring him here. She said she heard Marius Pontmercy was here and that his doctor might be able to help.”

            Cosette is still hesitant to let them in, but it’s obvious that this man, Enjolras, needs help badly. She allows them to enter and calls for her father. He appears within seconds, followed closely by M. Gillenormand. Neither of them look as if they’ve slept a wink – they have dark purple smudges under their eyes, especially Papa – but their rooms must be too far away to have heard the knocks.

            “Papa, Enjolras is from the barricade. He must know Marius. These women say he needs a doctor’s care,” recounts Cosette quickly. Because the women appear to be struggling under Enjolras’s weight and her father is much stronger, he takes Enjolras into his arms.

            “The barricade? I thought Monsieur Pontmercy was the only survivor,” says Papa in surprise.

            “We all thought so, monsieur. Enjolras was hanging out the window. Today, the women on the street worked to clean the blood and collect bodies, and they saw that he still had a pulse when they went to get him down. It’s weak and he’s lost a lot of blood, but he is alive,” says Gibelote. M. Gillenormand calls for the doctor, and the women leave after being thanked by Papa. Cosette can’t take her eyes off Enjolras. He’s very pale and drenched in blood, probably mostly his own. She counts eight gunshot wounds in his chest and she cannot believe he is still alive. She has a feeling he won’t be for long.

            Papa carries Enjolras upstairs and lays him on the bed of the closest unoccupied guestroom. Marius’s doctor, Dr. Bonhomme, is escorted into the room by M. Gillenormand. This time, Cosette is not ushered out. She lingers in the doorway and watches as Enjolras’s bullet-ridden red jacket is torn off his chest. His wounds are still bleeding. The doctor looks at every single one of them before turning to Papa and M. Gillenormand.

            “I don’t believe it. Eight bullets and not a single one hit a vital organ or an artery,” he says in disbelief.

            “Does that mean he’ll be alright?” asks Papa. Dr. Bonhomme shakes his head slightly.

            “I’m afraid not. He’s lost too much blood and five of the wounds appear to be infected. I’ll do what I can for him, but it seems his death has only been prolonged by the bullets missing his organs,” he says sadly. Cosette watches as Papa stares intently at Enjolras’s pale, bleeding figure. She knows that face; he’s forming an idea.

            “What about a blood transfusion?” he finally says. The doctor looks surprised, as does M. Gillenormand.

            “Excuse me?” asks the doctor, as if he did not hear properly. Papa repeats his question, more confidently this time. To Cosette’s surprise, M. Gillenormand starts to nod.

            “Yes, that could work,” he says earnestly. “The boy needs blood, doesn’t he? Perhaps he would heal better if we could give him some more.”

            “It’s too risky. Blood transfusions are a new practice, hardly even studied, and they are almost never successful,” Dr. Bonhomme refuses.

            “Look at him, monsieur. He’s dying anyway. We both know he won’t survive with all the blood he’s lost unless we get more in him. It’s worth a try. I’ll give my own blood,” insists Papa. Cosette wants to stop him – what if he is hurt doing the transfusion? – but there is a fire in his eyes that she has only seen a handful of times. He is determined to help this man and no one can stop him, not even Cosette. His argument works, and the doctor agrees.

            “Cosette, go back to your room. You do not need to see this,” orders Papa. She doesn’t want to leave, but there is a firmness in his voice that tells her he will not allow her to stay. It surprises Cosette a bit because he is usually so gentle with her, but she knows he only has her best interests at heart as always. She kisses his cheek, gives Enjolras one more fleeting glance, and leaves the room. Papa shuts the door behind her.

            Finding herself alone in the empty hallway, Cosette decides to go to Marius’s room. There is no one to stop her; they will be preoccupied with Enjolras for quite a while, and she needs to be reassured that her Marius is not as bad off as his leader is. As she treks down the hall, she can’t get the sight of Enjolras laying in the bed, red blood staining the sheets beneath him, every last inch of him coated in a mixture of blood, dirt, and gunpowder. She’d only seen Marius for a minute, and now she worries that he might be worse than she thought.

            Finally, she reaches the door of Marius’s bedroom. She turns the knob and pushes the door open. The sight that meets her eyes allows Cosette to breathe. Marius is tucked in under clean white sheets with his arm wrapped in a sling. She enters the room and tiptoes closer to him, careful note to wake him. His cheeks are flushed with fever and there is a bandage wrapped around his collarbone, but there is no visible blood and that is his only wound. Cosette wants to take his hand and sit with him for a while, but she knows how much trouble she would be in if she was discovered. Instead, she gently brushes her lips against Marius’s burning forehead and quietly goes back to her own room until morning.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably throw in as a disclaimer that I don't own Les Miserables or any of its characters.

Valjean has the doctor take two pints from him. He knows it can't be safe to take more than one, but Enjolras needs it. He's lost at least half of his own blood. All Valjean can think of is Enjolras's brave face at the barricade, remaining strong in the face of death. He kept it together the whole time for the sake of his friends. He didn't flinch or shed a tear as the people around him, most of whom Valjean suspects were his closest friends, fell one by one. Now here he is, laying broken and vulnerable, a fallen angel. Valjean wants to do everything he can to get this angel flying again.

"Here, drink this." Dr. Bonhomme hands him a large glass of wine. Valjean sips it slowly. He feels weak from giving so much blood, so he just sits back in a chair and watches as the doctor pumps his blood into Enjolras. There's a chance the transfusion might not work, but it's a chance Valjean is willing to take.

"When will we know if it works?" asks Valjean. He takes another sip of wine. He's careful not to drink too much too quickly because getting drunk will only make him feel worse at this point.

"Well, I'm going to clean and dress his wounds, and I imagine it will be safe to say it's worked if he's still alive at the end of the week," replies Dr. Bonhomme. That's not long at all, and Valjean is thankful for that. He isn't sure he could stand the stress of waiting for longer than a week.

"I'll give more if he needs it," he offers.

"That's very kind, monsieur, but your blood needs to replenish before you can give more. If the boy needs more in a month or so, then I will let you donate again. For now, finish that drink, perhaps eat a pastry, and then go to bed. Rest will help," orders the doctor. Valjean wants to stay behind and make sure Enjolras is properly cared for, but he knows he's of little use to the fearless leader if he doesn't take care of himself. He gets up to leave; M. Gillenormand appears to sense the uncertainty on his face. He puts a comforting hand on Valjean's shoulder.

"You've done so much for my grandson, Monsieur Fauchelevent," he says, addressing Valjean by the cover name that he's been using for the past ten or so years. "I'll stay with Enjolras for a while."

Valjean is grateful for the old man. He's heard that M. Gillenormand and Marius were estranged for some time due to differing political beliefs, but Gillenormand has been nothing but cooperative in the last two days since the barricade. Valjean has no problem leaving Enjolras in the hands of Dr. Bonhomme and M. Gillenormand, so he leaves with his glass of wine and heads down to the kitchen in search of food. It's late so the Gillenormands' cook is not awake to prepare anything fresh, but Valjean is able to find a loaf of recently baked bread in one of the cupboards. He unwraps it carefully to reveal the slightly burnt golden crust. Memories come flooding back at the sight of it. Children crying from hunger, the tantalizing scent of fresh bread, broken glass. Will there ever come a time when the mere sight of bread doesn't bring back flashes of the crime that sent him to the galleys for nineteen years? It's been thirty-six years since the crime was initially committed and seventeen since he was released on parole, parole that would be broken only months later.

Valjean shakes his head to bring himself back to his senses. His past life is not what needs to be concerning him at the moment. He cuts a thick slice from the loaf and replaces it in the cupboard. He eats the bread and drinks more wine as he heads back up the two flights of stairs to the bedrooms. As he passes Cosette's closed door, Valjean thinks about checking on her but he doesn't want to wake her if she has fallen asleep. He doubts she has, but he continues on to his borrowed room nonetheless. He sits his empty wine glass on the nightstand and gets into bed, though he knows he won't sleep. Sleep has not graced him since before he and Cosette encountered Javert in the marketplace. Still, Valjean will follow doctor's orders and at least try to rest before the morning comes.

* * *

When Marius awakens, it takes him a moment to recognize where he is. He is groggy and his surroundings are a little blurry, but he eventually realizes that he is in his old room at his grandfather's house. It is very quiet. He tries to move his head to the side to see if anyone is by his bed. A sharp pain stabs through his collarbone. Marius lets out an audible cry of pain. Immediately, a hand reaches out to dab at his forehead with a cold, wet cloth. His grandfather's face swims into view. This confuses Marius even more because he and his grandfather have hardly spoken in a year, except for the few times he's shown up at rallies to tell Marius what a disgrace he is to the Gillenormand name.

What's happened that would land him back in his grandfather's house? He tries to remember, but he can't. He can't even remember why he is in so much pain. His head feels very fuzzy and he's burning up. The next thing he knows an unfamiliar man is pressing a teaspoon to his dry, cracked lips. Marius opens his mouth just enough to let the spoon in and swallows a bitter tasting liquid. Within minutes, his eyes droop and he falls asleep once more.

* * *

The rest of the week passes so slowly, but Cosette is allowed to visit Marius before she knows it. She's spent the last five days pacing outside his door, sneaking a peak in to watch him sleep when she knows the others are busy tending to Enjolras. She's helped care for the poor revolutionary leader, too. He's still alive, meaning the blood transfusion must have worked, but he is still unconscious with a high fever from the infection in his wounds. He has a long way to go before he's out of the woods, especially since Dr. Bonhomme discovered another infected wound on his thigh the morning after Enjolras's arrival when he went to sponge him down.

Now Cosette sits in a wooden chair beside Marius's bed, chaperoned by her father. Papa stands back in the shadows by the door to give them as much privacy as he can. Cosette holds Marius's hand, stroking his thumb with hers, and watches him sleep. He's very pale, aside from the touch of red in his cheeks from the fever, but he looks peaceful in sleep. A part of Cosette wishes he would wake, as she was told he did momentarily a few days ago, but she knows he's better off asleep. He'll be in so much pain when he comes to his senses, physically and emotionally, and Cosette prays he can be spared that pain for as long as possible.

After nearly a half an hour of sitting at his bedside, Cosette rises from the chair.

"Leaving already, _ma petite_?" asks Papa. Cosette shakes her head with a tiny smile at her beloved father.

"No, not yet. I just…I wanted to ask you a question," she replies. It's something that's been on her mind since Papa came to bring her to the Gillenormand house. Now that there is a moment of peace amidst the chaos, it seems like an appropriate time to ask.

"What is it?" Cosette notices a change on her father's face, like he is uncomfortable at the idea of answering her question. She wonders what he thinks she's going to ask.

"You are so good, Papa, you always have been. Look at what you did for Enjolras. I think that may be one of the most selfless things I have ever seen you do. And so I…I can't help but wonder…you were gone for hours the night of the barricade. When you returned, you were filthy. Please be honest with me, Papa. Did you have anything to do with Marius's survival?' she asks. Something like relief crosses her father's face. Clearly she didn't ask whatever it was he feared.

"Yes, Cosette. I didn't want you to know I'd gone down to the barricade, didn't want you to worry, but I'd learned that Monsieur Pontmercy here was in love with you and I had to see to it that he made it out alive. When he was shot, I took him down to the sewers to hide him from the guards, and then I…I brought him straight here," he explains. Cosette gets the feeling he's hiding part of the story from her, but she doesn't press. It's enough that he's told her most of the truth, that he saved her Marius. She flings her arms around him in a loving hug and kisses his cheek.

"Oh, I knew it, Papa. You are so, so good. You saved me from a life of misery and you saved the man I love from death. You've done so much for me that I will never be able to repay you," exclaims Cosette happily. She continues to hug Papa and therefore does not see the sadness that now clouds her father's face, does not realize exactly how much he is hiding from her nor the guilt he feels from it. When she lets go, his face is rearranged into a happier expression.

"I must go check on Enjolras, but I'll be back in a few minutes. You may remain here without a chaperone, if you like," he says. Cosette smiles at him, her whole face lighting up like the summer's sun. She squeezes his hand and takes her place at Marius's bedside once more.

* * *

Valjean can hardly breathe as he leaves Marius's room. He has every intention of going to Enjolras's room, but first he slides down to the floor and stays there until he can calm his nerves. He had been so sure that he was going to have to finally explain to Cosette about his life as a convict and a fugitive. And even when that wasn't what she wanted to know, he felt horrible guilt at having to lie to her about the events of the barricade. _No, not lie,_ he tells himself. _You merely omitted some parts._

Still.

She thinks that he is a hero, a knight in shining armor. If she knew the truth…He can't tell her how he almost had to leave Marius down in the sewer when Javert came to arrest him. Telling her that would make her hate him and would also force him to explain his past. Valjean hates himself for lying to the one person who brings him happiness, but what else can he do? One day he knows he will have to tell Cosette everything, but now is not the time.

He doesn't feel any better, but he gets up anyway and goes down the hall to Enjolras's room. When he enters, Enjolras is lying unconscious on the bed and Dr. Bonhomme sits at his side. It was decided that someone must always be watching him until he is well enough. Valjean, Cosette, the doctor, and M. Gillenormand watch him in shifts. Valjean's last shift was that morning, but he finds that he is always wanting to check on Enjolras, to make sure he is still breathing.

"Monsieur Fauchelevent, come in," the doctor says when he notices Valjean lingering by the door. He comes closer and takes a seat in a second chair. Enjolras looks better since he has been washed clean of all blood and grime, but he is even paler than Marius from blood loss and Valjean knows what his traumatized skin looks like under all the bandages.

"How is he?" asks Valjean. The doctor sighs.

"No better, but no worse. The fever won't come down and it's starting to concern me that he hasn't woken at all, not even for a minute. I was thinking of trying an ice bath tomorrow if the fever hasn't improved by the morning," he replies truthfully. Valjean stares at Enjolras's still body. His golden curls are fanned out on the pillow, framing his face like a halo. He thinks of how Enjolras looked at the barricade – so fearless and stoic, as if made of stone. Hadn't he heard one of the other boys call him "Apollo"? He was god-like to his friends. Valjean is almost happy they aren't here to see him now, human and very breakable.


	3. Chapter Three

When Marius wakes again, he feels much more coherent than last time, though he does not know how much time has passed. His old bedroom is hardly blurry at all, and he is able to turn his head with only the slightest discomfort to see his grandfather sleeping in the chair beside his bed. He still isn't sure how or why he is in his grandfather's house, but a sharp pain reminds of him of the wound in his shoulder and memories flash though his mind to remind him how he got it.

Bahorel stabbed with a bayonet, Bossuet falling after a bullet pierced his chest, Jehan going the same way at Bossuet. Eponine dying in his arms and Gavroche laying with his eyes wide open, the ammunition he died for still clutched in his little hand.

Tears fill his eyes. He cannot bear to think of what might have happened to the others. He can only hope they are still alive. But how could they be? The people hadn't risen as Enjolras said they would; the Amis were left to fend against the National Guardsmen in their small number. Marius doesn't even know how he is alive. He remembers being shot while trying to barricade the door of the Musain, trying to protect his remaining friends, but that is it.

He hears the door creak open and his eyes dash over to it. A lovely angel with golden hair and the bluest of eyes enters, her smile lighting up the room when she sees Marius's brown eyes staring back at her.

"Cosette…" breathes Marius, weakly yet lovingly. Cosette approaches him and takes his hand in hers. He doesn't even wonder what she is doing in his grandfather's house for he is just so happy to see her again. She is supposed to be in England now, but here she is at his side instead. All tragic thoughts of his slaughtered friends leave his mind as Marius gazes unbelievingly at the girl who has stolen his heart.

"Marius, I am so thrilled to see those sparkling eyes open. I was worried I never would, we were all worried. How are you?" asks Cosette. Marius ponders this question for a moment. He doesn't have enough strength to completely describe how he is feeling. The pain is returning to his collarbone now that he's been awake for more than a minute and his stomach is grumbling although he's too nauseous to even think about eating.

"Tired," he settles for. Cosette smiles softly and gently pushes his reddish brown hair off his forehead.

"I'm sure you are. I wish I could let you go back to sleep, but we promised to alert Dr. Bonhomme if you awakened. I'll fetch him just as soon as I wake your grandfather, if that's okay?" she replies. Marius nods slightly. Dr. Bonhomme. He recognizes that name as his childhood doctor and can't believe the man is still practicing. He must be as old as Grandfather now, who wakes with a start after Cosette nudges his shoulder.

"Marius, my boy, thank God you're up," says Grandfather delightfully. Marius can't believe it. His grandfather hasn't had a kind word for him since he was eighteen years old. He supposes he must be very ill if Grandfather is treating him so well.

There is an awkward silence because Marius isn't feeling up to conversation and he can tell Grandfather doesn't know what to say, but it's broken soon when Cosette returns with the doctor. Dr. Bonhomme checks him over quickly, noting how his fever seems to have gone down. Apparently that means his infection is getting better, though Marius wasn't aware he had an infection. It starts to annoy him a bit how no one is telling him anything.

"I'm going to change your bandages," announces Dr. Bonhomme. "How is your pain?"

"It's…high," says Marius truthfully. The more time passes, the more it hurts. Stabbing pains shoot through his shoulder and neck every time his chest rises with breath. The doctor unties the sling cradling Marius's arms and carefully cuts off the old bandages. Marius couldn't see the wound even if he wanted to, but he keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling just in case. His nervous stomach can't take the sight of blood at the moment.

"Well, there's still some residual bleeding, but it appears to be healing well otherwise," comments Dr. Bonhomme after he's redressed the wound and retied the sling.

"Can you give him anything for the pain?" asks Grandfather. It hasn't escaped his notice that Marius winces at even the gentlest touch to his wound.

"He can continue with the laudanum. I'll give him a dose now, but it will put him back to sleep," the doctor replies.

"That's fine," consents Marius. More sleep means not having to face reality just yet, and he has a feeling as his dead friends' faces flash through his mind once more that reality might be more painful than the shot to his collarbone. He gladly takes the teaspoon of laudanum offered to him by the doctor.

"I'll stay with him," says Cosette suddenly. Marius had almost forgotten she is still here. She steps forward from the window, the light shining through framing her figure and making her look even more angelic than usual.

"That is sweet of you, Mademoiselle Fauchelevent, but most inappropriate," says Grandfather. His voice is kind despite his refusal. "However, you are welcome to stay in the room with me if you like."

"Thank you, monsieur," replies Cosette sweetly. She pulls up a second chair and sits on the other side of Marius.

"I'll be down the hall checking on Monsieur Enjolras should you need me," says Dr. Bonhomme. He shuts the door behind him. Marius is starting to feel groggy, but he knows he didn't mishear the doctor. One of his friends is still alive: Enjolras. The fearless leader of the revolution.

"Enjolras…" Marius doesn't know what he wants to say about Enjolras, but he needs confirmation. He looks at Cosette; she seems alarmed, tense, not like herself at all.

"Yes, Marius. Enjolras is here, too. He's been injured, but he's alive," says Cosette. Marius feels his eyes drooping, but he fights to stay awake. If Enjolras is alive, there is a chance…Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Grantaire, Joly, Feuilly. They could all be alive.

"The…the others…" He can't get out his entire question, but he's sure Cosette understands what he's trying to ask. They meet each other's gaze, but Cosette looks away quickly. Marius starts to breathe more rapidly; he doesn't miss the sadness in her usually twinkling blue eyes.

"Later, Marius. For now, you must rest," she says. Marius wants to press, wants to find out more. Does her sadness mean that more of his friends have died, or is she merely thinking of the ones he already knows are dead? Are they alive, as Enjolras is, but perhaps gravely injured? He is in desperate need of answers, but he is too exhausted to formulate the question aloud. Within seconds of Cosette's mysterious response, the laudanum forces him back to sleep.

* * *

As soon as Marius's eyelids are closed, Cosette rises from her chair.

"Pardon me for running off so soon, monsieur, but I've just remembered that my father asked to speak with me after I was finished visiting Marius," Cosette lies. M. Gillenormand bids her goodbye with a warm smile. She hurries out the door. Cosette is going to see Papa, but not because he asked for her. She is going because she cannot hold back her emotions at what has just occurred, and he is one of the few people she feels comfortable losing control in front of.

She reaches the door to the guestroom he is staying in and knocks loudly. There is a soft, weary "Come in", and Cosette pushes the door open. Papa is sitting at the writing desk his room came with, a blank piece of parchment sitting in front of him. He smiles genuinely when he sees her, bringing some true light to his tired eyes. Cosette never realized how old her father seems to be until all the business with the barricade in the last two weeks, but now she notices the dark shadows under his eyes, the wrinkles lining his face, the patches of gray that spot his brown hair.

"What are you doing?" she asks nonchalantly, referring to the blank piece of parchment before him. Cosette does her best to keep her voice calm and even; she wants an answer out of him before she spills all of her own worries.

"Well, I thought it might be nice to write to the Enjolrases and tell them their son is alive," replies Papa, "but I can't seem to find an address for them. Nor do I really know the proper way to explain the situation, seeing as I do not know Enjolras's relationship with his parents."

Cosette crosses the room to perch on the edge of Papa's bed, which is close enough to the writing desk that she can put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her father is always thinking of others. She doesn't know how she got so lucky to have such a generous man raise her.

"Perhaps it would be better to wait until Enjolras is conscious. Then he can tell you the best way to phrase the letter. Besides, I fear…" Cosette's voice trails off, unable to say the words out loud. But, as always, Papa is perfectly in tune with her thoughts.

"He may die yet," Papa finishes. Cosette nods. It's the thought that she knows has been on everyone's mind for the last two weeks, and it's almost comforting to hear it expressed out loud, to know that Cosette is not the only one fearing for Enjolras's life. Now, she feels, is a good time to bring up what she came to discuss.

"Dr. Bonhomme foolishly let slip in front of Marius that Enjolras is here," says Cosette. Normally, she doesn't have an unkind thing to say about anyone, but there is a harsh bitterness in her words here. The doctor's carelessness was causing Marius worry and that was something Cosette would not let go lightly.

"Oh dear. And what came of that?" asks Papa. Almost absentmindedly, Cosette reaches for her father's hand. Their fingers intertwine. Touch has always been something that makes Cosette feel better. Her only memories of her mother are of Fantine holding her, singing lullabies, but no one would hold her or comfort her at all when she lived with the Thenardiers. She can remember hiding from Madame Thenardier, cuddling with her rag doll and longing for her mother's touch. From the moment Papa rescued her, she took every opportunity she could to hug him or hold his hand, and she still does.

"I had to tell him Enjolras is indeed here and alive. Of course, that prompted him to ask about his other friends. I…I couldn't bear to tell him the truth," she says. Her voice starts to shake and tears spring to her eyes. Valjean rises and comes to sit on the bed next to her so he can put his arm around her shoulders. "He's so weak right now. He can't handle the truth. So I said we'd discuss it later. But even later…I can't, Papa, I…I can't tell him all his friends are dead save for one."

Combeferre. Courfeyrac. Grantaire. Joly. Jehan. Bahorel. Feuilly. Bossuet. After admitting he'd been at the barricade that night, Papa told her the names of those whom Marius was closest to. They run through her mind now, though she is unable to put faces to any of them. She knows learning of their deaths will put Marius through more pain that his physical wound and Cosette cannot be the one to cause him that pain. But she also knows that she is the only one who can tell him because he will take it best from her and the thought of that moment kills her inside.

"Don't fret about it now, Cosette. He will have to know eventually, of course, but we will cross that bridge later. First, he must take more time to heal," says Papa. It never ceases to surprise Cosette how wise her father can be, how he always seems to know what to say. She reaches up and kisses his cheek; he smiles at her in return.

"Thank you, Papa. I think I'll go check on Monsieur Enjolras now just to…just to be sure." She doesn't say it out loud, but Cosette needs to make sure that her love's surviving friend is still breathing. It's silly, but it will make her feel better. She bids Papa goodbye and goes immediately to Enjolras's room where Dr. Bonhomme is redressing his wounds.

He is breathing, but he looks awful. Despite being sponged down twice, there is still blood and dirt tangled in his blond curls. His skin is white as snow, and Cosette gets the feeling he's not usually that pale. Little beads of sweat from the fever cover his face. Cosette can tell he is normally very handsome, perhaps angelic even, but at the moment he's little more than a corpse. _He can't die_ , Cosette thinks desperately. _I can't tell Marius that Enjolras is dead, too._

It scares her tremendously how little hope there is for his survival.


	4. Chapter Four

**Parisian Inspector Found in the Seine**

Valjean cannot take his eyes off the newspaper headline or the picture pasted below it. He's been staring it for nearly ten minutes, but he is unable to bring himself to read the article.

Because he would recognize the man in the picture anywhere.

It's Javert.

But how can this be? The last time Valjean saw Javert was down in the sewers just after the barricade, and Javert had promised maliciously that he would be waiting for Valjean after he'd gotten Marius to a doctor. In all the chaos since then, Valjean had forgotten about that, hasn't even put one thought towards why Javert hasn't come for him yet. With a deep breath, he lowers his eyes to the printed words below the picture and begins to read.

_The body of Inspector Javert was found washed ashore on the banks of the Seine river four days ago. There has been no word on how long the body was in the river, but the inspector's official cause of death has been listed as an accidental drowning. Inspector Javert, a longtime member of the Paris police force, was last seen three weeks ago at the destroyed barricade of the crushed student rebellion. It is unclear at the time how he fell into the Seine, leading to his untimely death._

Valjean cannot believe it. Javert is dead. A smile almost graces his face, but then he pictures the face of the bishop, the man who saved his soul and helped him learn to open his heart to love. He would not want Valjean to be happy about another man's misfortune. Valjean doesn't want to be happy about it either, since so many lives have been lost in the past few weeks already, but he can't help but feel a little relieved. Javert, the reason Valjean has spent seventeen years looking over his shoulder in paranoia and never truly trusting anyone who tries to help him, is gone, never to bother him or his little family again. For the first time since breaking his parole, Valjean feels like he can relax.

The feeling does not last long.

A minute later, a terrible scream pierces the silence of the parlor where Valjean sits. He leaps to his feet, though he is unsure of who it is or where it comes from. But he can tell the sound came from upstairs, so he races out of the parlor and to the stairs. About halfway up the staircase, there is another loud shriek and Valjean hears Cosette's gentle, desperate voice accompanying it.

"Enjolras, please, it's alright, it's okay," he hears his daughter beg. Dr. Bonhomme and M. Gillenormand are both out in Paris attending to separate businesses, so Cosette has been sitting with Enjolras. Valjean enters the room quickly to find Enjolras thrashing in his bed, inhuman screams ripping through his throat, with Cosette frantically trying to calm him. When she looks up at Valjean, there is fear in her eyes.

"He isn't awake, I think he's having a nightmare," she shouts over Enjolras. Afraid that he will hurt Cosette by accidentally striking her, Valjean pulls her away from the bed. He grabs Enjolras's arms and pins them to the bed with his own unbelievable strength. The boy still flails, trying to fight off something in his nightmares. Valjean sees the sweat pouring down his face, sticking his matted curls to his face, and he knows that this is a fever induced nightmare.

"Enjolras! Enjolras, wake up!" he shouts, but to no avail. Enjolras continues to kick his legs and tries to fight Valjean off his arms, screaming all the while. Valjean has no idea how to wake him from the nightmare, but he worries that all this moving around will make his wounds bleed more and he's right: Valjean can see a little spot of red that wasn't there before staining the front of his nightshirt.

"Papa, what do we do?" cries Cosette from behind him. The truth is Valjean has no idea. He's never been in this situation before; he hasn't a clue how to help Enjolras. But he knows he has to try or the boy will end up killing himself by accident.

"Take that pitcher of water and splash it over his face," orders Valjean. Water in Paris isn't the cleanest so he isn't sure how that will affect Enjolras's wounds, but he's willing to try anything to get him out of this nightmare. Cosette does as she's told and dumps the entire pitcher filled with water and ice over Enjolras's blond head. He lets out one more horrible scream, then becomes very still with the exception of his heavy breathing. Bright blue eyes, bluer than Cosette's, open and stare ahead of him, not truly seeing anything. They've succeeded in waking Enjolras from the nightmare, and Valjean notes that this is the first time since his arrival that his eyes have opened. He doesn't appear to be really conscious, but it's a start.

"No…" mutters Enjolras before his eyes flutter shut again. Valjean releases his arms and steps back to allow Cosette to throw herself into his arms. He wraps them around her as she buries her head in his chest. Beneath his hands, he can feel his daughter's body shuddering ever so slightly, indicating that she is quietly crying. Valjean's heart breaks a little. He has spent nine years trying to shield Cosette from anything that might cause her pain, for he believes she has suffered enough pain in the loss of her mother and the years spent with the Thenardiers, but he cannot shield her from this. Enjolras is Marius's friend so Cosette will insist on doing her part to care for him and that means Valjean cannot keep her from witnessing the terrible effects of the intense trauma Enjolras has been through.

"It's okay, _ma petite_ , it's over," whispers Valjean as he rubs her back soothingly.

"But it's not," she cries in reply, and Valjean knows she is aware of the pain that is yet to come for both Enjolras and Marius. He thinks back to the newspaper article and longs for that brief moment of bliss where he was so sure all his worries had drowned in the Seine.

* * *

_Enjolras is alone at the barricade. Everything is clean, pristine, untouched…It's as if the fight hasn't even begun. But something inside him knows that it has, knows that the revolution is over…_

_The silence around him is deafening. Where is everyone? If the fight has not yet started, if the barricade is so well kept, where are his comrades?_ They haven't come _, a voice in his mind says._ They've abandoned you, left you to die without a second thought.

_No. It's not true. Enjolras pushes the voice out of his head. Maybe the people won't rise and maybe some will abandon him, but his true friends, the eight lieutenants in his inner circle, they would never. They believe in his cause, too. Or at least most of them do._

_He feels something wet soaking into his shoes. Looking down at his feet, Enjolras sees a river of red blood flowing beneath them. He whirls around to discover the source and falls to his knees in shock at what he sees._

_His friends' bodies are piled on top of each other, a barricade of skin, cloth, and blood. They've all been shot or bayoneted, and it is the blood running from their wounds that forms the river underneath him. Enjolras feels as if he is suffocating. He inches closer to the pile and can make out all of their face individually. His friends…all dead…_

_Grantaire's body is on top of the pile. His head faces out so that his wide, blank eyes stare right at Enjolras. Enjolras gets close enough that their noses are nearly touching. Then, out of nowhere, Grantaire's green eyes blink and he grabs Enjolras's wrist with a cold, pale hand. The suddenness of it all makes Enjolras jump._

_"_ _Do you permit it?" asks Grantaire in a stony, hollow voice that is nothing like his own. Enjolras wants to run away, to hide from the stares of his dead friends piled on top of each other, but Grantaire will not relinquish his grip and Enjolras can't get away. Tears run down his face._

_"_ _No…no, I don't," he sobs. He reaches up to wipe away the tears with his free hand, but when he lowers it from his face he sees that his fingers are covered in blood. Droplets of red run down his shirt and splatter the cobblestone street. Enjolras is crying blood. He realizes that he, too, is dead, as Grantaire pulls him into the pile of bodies, to join his murdered friends…_

A strangled scream escapes Enjolras's throat as he bolts up in bed, awakening from his nightmare. White hot pain surges through his chest and leg. He looks around the unfamiliar room frantically, but he has no idea where he is. Panic, a rare emotion Enjolras only ever feels for a fleeting moment the few times he has experienced it, infiltrates his mind and will not let go of him. He needs to leave wherever he is and go find his friends, but he cannot move. Whether that is from pain or from the panic that has its grip on him, Enjolras doesn't know.

"Enjolras, calm down. Deep breaths." It is a soft male voice that Enjolras thinks he might recognize and finds to be very soothing. He pays attention to his breathing, which was previously very rapid, and manages to slow it down. A face appears in front of him, adding to Enjolras's confusion because he recognizes the man – and now the voice – as Monsieur Fauchelevent from the barricade, but he doesn't understand what he is doing with Fauchelevent. The panic that was starting to fade with the deep breaths comes back full force. Enjolras struggles to get out of the bed he is laying in, but Fauchelevent gently yet easily pushes him back down. Enjolras wants to speak, to ask questions, to insist on leaving, but no sound will come out when he opens his mouth. He's not sure his brain is clear enough to form the right words anyway.

"Please, Enjolras, don't struggle. I know this all must be very frightening and confusing for you, but you have to stay in bed. You're at Monsieur Gillenormand's house, Marius's grandfather, and you're very gravely injured. You must relax and stay put," explains Fauchelevent. Injured…that explains the intense pain that literally feels like its tearing his insides apart. Enjolras has a brief vision of bullets flying towards him, Grantaire's hand in his, and he doesn't understand why he is not dead. Then he wonders…was the nightmare a lie? Are his friends not dead as he thought? He remembers seeing their bodies, but nothing feels real at the moment and so he isn't sure if watching them die was real or not.

Enjolras wants more than anything to go back to sleep, to escape the pain, the memories, and the confusion.

He's lucky because Fauchelevent seems to read his mind and gives him a teaspoon of something that is supposed to help him sleep. He can barely part his lips or swallow the liquid, so Fauchelevent practically forces the teaspoon down his throat. He realizes that some of the medicine is dribbling out of his mouth like an infant, but he is too disoriented to feel ashamed. Even if he did care, there would be little time to dwell on it as the medicine knocks him out only a minute or so later.

* * *

Cosette is sitting at Marius's side, despite his grandfather's opinion that it is inappropriate, when she hears the agonizing scream. She recognizes it as Enjolras and shudders, thinking of his last screaming fit that she witnessed only days ago. It is a horrible thing to hear Enjolras scream because, from what Cosette can gather, he is not usually the type of person to lose control like that. The sound startles Marius, too, for his eyes flutter open within seconds.

"What…?" he asks, groggy from his last dose of laudanum. Cosette strokes his hair gently.

"Shh," she coos soothingly. They hear no more screams from Enjolras's room. "It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

But Marius doesn't. Instead, he struggles to sit up in the bed. Cosette bites her lip nervously, unsure of what she should do. But she knows she will not be able to physically force Marius to lie down, even frail as he currently is, so instead she props up his pillow behind him and does her best to help him to a seated position. Beads of sweat cover his forehead. Cosette wonders if that's from the physical exertion of sitting up or if…she presses her hand to his forehead and is delighted by what she finds.

"Marius, I think your fever's broken!" she exclaims happily. Marius smiles weakly.

"Well…that would explain…why I feel a bit better than I…than I have been," he responds with almost an air of playfulness in his tone. Cosette kisses his forehead.

"I'll go fetch Dr. Bonhomme. This is wonderful news!" Cosette gets up and leaves to go find the doctor, who is staying at the Gillenormand house until both boys are sufficiently recovering. He probably doesn't need to be alerted right away, but Cosette needs more time to deflect the question she knows is on the tip of Marius's tongue, the question of his friends. Today is the first day since the barricade that his eyes are not glazed over with fever, and Cosette wants it to remain a good day.

Dr. Bonhomme is sitting in an armchair in the Gillenormands' enormous library, flipping through what appears to be an old medical journal. He looks up at the sound of approaching footsteps and smiles as his gaze rests on Cosette.

"Mademoiselle Fauchelevant, good day," he greets. Cosette smiles back.

"Cosette, if you please. I came to tell you that Marius's fever seems to have broken," she replies.

"That's wonderful! Let's have a look, shall we?" The doctor rises from his chair and follows Cosette back up to the bedrooms. She pauses at Enjolras's room, squinting to look through the crack in the slightly open door. Papa is sitting at his bedside and there is no sign of struggle. Whatever happened earlier has passed. Dr. Bonhomme reaches around her and completely shuts the door.

"There's no use fussing over him now, miss. He's doing better than I ever dreamed possible from his state when he arrived, so we simply must keep praying and hope for the best. He has a long way to go before I am comfortable deeming him a survivor. For now, let us see to Monsieur Pontmercy," he says wisely. Cosette has not spent much time with the doctor – when he is not dutifully checking on his patients he is reading in the library to, Cosette suspects, research more ways to help Enjolras – but so far she likes him. There's a quality in him that almost reminds her of Papa, the way his words are able to soothe her when she worries. Besides that, he's taking care of Marius for her, something she will never be able to thank him enough for.

Marius is still awake when they enter his room, propped up against his pillows just as Cosette left him. He smiles awkwardly at their return. Cosette has come to learn that everything about Marius is awkward, but loveably so.

"Hello, Dr. Bonhomme," he says quietly. Cosette relaxes even more; this is the first time he has shown outwardly signs of knowing who his childhood doctor is. When he awoke the other times, fever-ridden, the only names he would speak were Cosette's and those of his dead friends. She feels he must be getting better if he is ready to start speaking more conversationally.

"Good day, Marius. How is my favorite patient doing today?" asks Dr. Bonhomme.

"Better, thanks to you," replies Marius. The doctor sets down the medical bag he'd brought with him and pulls out his wooden stethoscope.

"Good, good. You're a much better patient now than you were when I last saw you. Do you remember? You were fourteen years old and you'd fallen out of that big oak tree in the backyard of your summer house in the country," he recalls. Marius laughs, but Cosette notices how he winces afterwards. _Even happiness comes with pain_ , she thinks sadly.

"Yes, I seem to remember that. Grandfather…he told me I was…too big to be climbing the…the tree," says Marius, struggling to get the words out. He's better no doubt, but he's still weak after all he's been through. Dr. Bonhomme senses this and hold up a hand to silence him. He presses the stethoscope to his chest and listens for a moment before assisting Marius in finishing the story.

"But, as your grandfather recounted to me, you insisted on climbing it anyway, grabbed a branch that couldn't support your weight, and broke your arm in the fall," finishes Dr. Bonhomme, chuckling at the memory. "You were more stubborn back then, you would hardly let me tie up your arm because you were itching to go back out and prove to Monsieur Gillenormand you _could_ climb the tree."

"That doesn't sound like you at all, Marius," laughs Cosette. She enjoys hearing stories of his childhood. Sometimes at dinner, when it's been a good day and there is no worrisome tension in the air, M. Gillenormand will tell a story or two. Marius grins sheepishly and blushes.

"I was always looking…to prove Grandfather wrong as a child. He and I…don't see eye to eye," explains Marius as the doctor checks his shoulder wound. The atmosphere quickly turns from gleeful to melancholy. Cosette has a feeling he didn't stumble over that last sentence because of the state of his health. The longer Cosette is here the more she comes to realize that Marius and his grandfather did not previously get along. She hopes that will change after all he's done for them.

"Well, Marius, your fever does appear to have broken. The injury to your collarbone appears to be on its way to healing nicely, too. You're still going to be feeling poorly for another few weeks so you'll want to keep taking the laudanum and I suspect some exercises will be needed to help regain full use of your arm, but in time you will be completely healed," says Dr. Bonhomme, packing up his supplies. Cosette and Marius thank him just before he exits the room. Cosette sits back in the chair by the bed and sighs deeply. Marius is going to be fine physically, but now it is time for her to break him emotionally. If she could put it off any longer, she would, but she knows it's only a matter of time before he starts asking questions again and she really just wants to get the whole ordeal over with.

"Marius, I…it's time to tell you the truth, but I really don't know how," she admits, unable to look at him. Marius reaches for her hand and holds it tightly.

"This is about _them_ , isn't it? My…friends," he says. Cosette nods. She doesn't want to, but she looks up to meet his eye. She can't deliver this news looking at the floor.

"There is no one else, Marius. You and Enjolras…you're the only survivors," she whispers. Marius's eyes widen, the usual light in them gone, and his mouth curves down into a frown. His breathing increases and Cosette can see his whole body shaking.

"No…no…" Tears fill his eyes. Cosette wishes she could do something for him, but all she can do is rub the palm of his hand soothingly and hope she doesn't start crying, too.

"I'm so sorry," she breathes. No words will soothe him; she knows that. The tears he has been holding back spill forward now. Cosette moves closer to him, wraps her arms around him, and holds him as he wails in misery for his lost friends.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to include Grantaire's height in this chapter but I couldn't find any examples of his height in the brick so I went with George Blagden's height since his portrayal of R is my favorite.

Marius awakes from yet another nightmare with a small cry on his lips. There is no one in his room, and he's grateful for that. Marius does not wish to relive his nightmares for an audience. He finds that they come more frequently now that he is no longer constantly overtaken by feverish sleep and now that he knows of his friends' deaths. It is that knowledge that he fears is causing the nightmares. Even when he is awake, visions of his friends' faces, happy and alive as they were before the barricade, are always flashing through his mind. He cannot escape them.

And then there is Enjolras. Marius knows he is right down the hall, still alive but injured to the point that Marius isn't sure he should be celebrating the survival of one of his friends just yet. The others are careful not to speak of Enjolras's condition in front of him so as to not worry him, but Marius can still here Enjolras's frequent screams, sometimes accompanied by the raised voice of Fauchelevent or the doctor, trying to calm him down. He wonders if the screams are from nightmares such as Marius's or from pain. No one will tell Marius what the exact injuries are, but they must be bad if even Dr. Bonhomme doubts Enjolras's survival.

Marius wants to see Enjolras. The desire hits him as he sits here alone, swallowed up by the darkness of the night. He hasn't been allowed out of bed yet and even if he had he's sure the others would not permit him to see his leader. They seem to think seeing Enjolras in such a state will have a negative impact on Marius and maybe it will, but that doesn't quench Marius's sudden need to see him. Now would be the opportune time, as the rest of the house is probably long asleep, but he has no means to go about getting to Enjolras's room. He was told that he'd be given a cane to help him walk once he's allowed out of bed next week, but they won't bring it to him until that very moment. He suspects it's because they fear he _will_ sneak out to visit Enjolras if he has the cane. A small smile turns up the corners of his lips. Enjolras would be proud of Marius's rebellious thoughts if he knew, all of the Amis would.

The smile quickly vanishes as another one of Enjolras's heart-shattering screams rips through the silence. Marius feels his own heartbeat speed up, hears the thundering of everyone in the house rushing to Enjolras's room. He wants to join them. It's probably just another nightmare, nothing unusual, but that doesn't change how Marius aches to be in the same room as his only surviving friend, to comfort him as he knows only a fellow survivor can.

The screaming does not cease as it usually does after Enjolras is awakened. He's shouting real words now, the first words he's spoken in the nearly three weeks he's been here, but Marius can't tell what he's saying. The door to Marius's bedroom flies open to reveal Cosette and Monsieur Fauchelevent. They both look stressed and worried, a look that Marius has noticed is a constant for Fauchelevent but one that does not suit Cosette's normally sunny disposition.

"Marius, dear, would you mind if we helped you into Enjolras's room? I know it's a bit earlier than we planned, but – "

"Let's go." Marius doesn't even let Cosette finish. He doesn't care why he's being summoned; he just wants to be in the same room as the brave revolutionary leader he so looks up to.

"You must brace yourself, son," says Fauchelevent. "The reason we call for you is because Enjolras…we think he's hallucinating. He seems to think there is someone called R in his room?"

Marius's heart drops. Grantaire, the cynical drunk that they all loved anyway, signed his name as R almost all the time. He seemed to think it was funny, "Grand R" being a play on words of his name.

"That's…that's one of our friends," whispers Marius. Cosette and Fauchelevent exchange worried looks, but they pull back Marius's bedsheets nonetheless and make to help him out of the bed. Marius's legs feel weak and unstable after weeks of not using them and he's a little embarrassed to have Cosette see him in nothing but a nightshirt, but Enjolras is more important than any of that. He is determined to make it down the hall to his friend.

"Dr. Bonhomme did not wish us to fetch you, but Papa thinks it might ground Enjolras a little to see a friend of his in the flesh," Cosette explains further. They inch their way down the hall, Cosette and Fauchelevent supporting nearly all of Marius's weight in their arms. It seems like a lifetime, but they finally reach Enjolras's room. When they enter, a terrifying sight meets Marius's eyes.

Enjolras is sitting up in bed, covered in sweat and clawing at his own head. His hands occasionally grab chunks of blond curls and pull at them until he rips out golden strands. Blue eyes, usually so full of fire and passion, are wild and scared. He looks like a terrible, fallen angel. Grandfather is desperately trying to pull his arms away from his head, but to no avail. Weak, deranged, and ill as he is, Enjolras is still stronger than the old man.

"Tell him I'm sorry!" screams Enjolras. His eyes stare at something only he can see. He shouts his request again, then looks around the room frantically as if to find someone to help him before his tortured gaze falls on Marius.

"Marius," he breathes. He sounds relieved. Dr. Bonhomme, who has been searching through his medical bag presumably to find something to help Enjolras, looks up at the sound of Marius's name. Marius gets the feeling he's checking to see if Enjolras is hallucinating more, and he's surprised to see the doctor's face contort with fury at the sight of Marius.

"I told you not to bring him here! He doesn't need to see this!" he hisses at Fauchelevent. The man doesn't even blink at the doctor's harsh words. Not for the first time, Marius wonders how he is able to remain so calm in all situations.

"I know and I apologize for disobeying your orders, monsieur, but you're going to need Enjolras to calm down to give him that," says Fauchelevent, gesturing towards the bottle of laudanum Dr. Bonhomme's pulled out of his bag, "and I believe Marius can help with that."

He doesn't seem happy about it, but the doctor doesn't argue. Cosette and Fauchelevent ease Marius into the chair beside Enjolras's bed. Enjolras's wild eyes have not left Marius the entire time. Grandfather releases his arms and goes to stand behind Marius, which seems to signal to Enjolras that he can speak now.

"Marius, please…tell R I'm sorry," Enjolras begs. "He won't believe me. Tell him I didn't mean it, I didn't mean to allow him to die for me, and I'm sorry."

A chilling realization surges through Marius. Enjolras is not just hallucinating Grantaire. He's hallucinating Grantaire's ghost. Marius clears his throat and tries to compose himself. He can't respond to Enjolras until he's sure his voice won't shake.

"Where is R, Enjolras?" asks Marius. Enjolras points a trembling finger to the empty space just next to him in front of the nightstand. There is no one there, of course, just air. Suddenly, Marius longs for Courfeyrac. His best friend among the Amis was wonderful with words, never stumbled over his tongue as Marius so often did, and was able to smooth over any situation. He'd even take Combeferre's wisdom or Jean Prouvaire's poetic speeches. Any of them would be better for Enjolras in this moment, but Marius is all he has so he tries to channel the spirits of all his friends to help him get through this. With a deep breath, Marius lifts his eyes to the spot where Grantaire supposedly stands, adjusting his line of sight so that he might be staring right into the green eyes of the five foot nine cynic.

"Grantaire, listen to Enjolras. If he says he's sorry, he's really means it and you should forgive him," Marius says as commandingly as he can, but it's a weak command that lacks all the grace, wisdom, and beauty of the friends he tried to emulate. Part of him knows it won't be enough to silence Enjolras's demons, but he doesn't know if he has the strength to do any more. It is much more difficult and emotionally taxing than he thought it would be to see the man who was so recently a fearless leader, a force to be reckoned with, receded to something so broken.

"He won't…please, R, please, I'm sorry…Marius, help!" sobs Enjolras, reaching out to grasp loosely at the hem of Marius's nightshirt. Unintentionally, Marius gasps and pulls away from his friend's touch. The sudden movement sends shooting pain through his collarbone. He doesn't cry out, he can't in front of this version of Enjolras, but he does clutch at the bandages with his good arm and closes his eyes until the pain passes. Then he feels a firm, protective hand on his shoulder, a grip that he recognizes very well from his childhood.

"No more of this. Monsieur Fauchelevent, please assist me in taking my grandson back to his room," Grandfather orders. Fauchelevent opens his mouth to protest, but does not get the chance before Enjolras, who realizes somehow in his demented state that Marius might be taken away, starts to scream again.

"No! Don't take him! I need his help, you can't take him!" he shouts. Tears start to well in Marius's eyes; he feels very overwhelmed by the whole situation. His desperation to see Enjolras earlier has been replaced by a desire to be as far away from this unfamiliar Enjolras as possible, yet he knows he could not live with himself if he were to leave without easing Enjolras's pain. He must try again.

"Okay, Grantaire, that's enough," he says, his eyes focusing back on where Enjolras pictures the ghost to be. "I'm sorry for what happened to you and to the rest of our friends. Enjolras is, too. But you mustn't blame him or you'll never be at peace. Besides, you're on the other side with all our friends and we are stuck here without the lot of you. You should pity Enjolras rather than be angry with him. Think of what Prouvaire would say. Something about death, especially a martyr's death, being beautiful. Think about it. Enjolras made you that martyr, didn't he? You should thank him for making you worth something, which you never thought you were. Forgive him, R, forgive him and move on."

The room is silent when Marius finishes speaking, silent except for the noisy tears of Enjolras. It strikes Marius in that silence that he does not know how Grantaire died, he doesn't know why he be would angry at Enjolras or think his death was his leader's fault. He can't ask Enjolras now, of course, but he hopes he will find out later when Enjolras is more coherent.

"Thank you," whispers Enjolras through his tears, and Marius knows he accomplished his task that time. He hopes Courfeyrac would be proud at his first speech that wasn't awkward and full of stutters.

"Now we'll take him back," says Fauchelevent quietly.

* * *

In the morning, the first thing Valjean does is take a cup of tea to Cosette's room. He knows the previous night was tough on her, he saw the tears in her eyes as she watched Marius talk to an imaginary ghost, and he wants to make sure she's okay. He knows she will only admit her true feelings to him in private. Despite her flowery, delicate outward appearance, his daughter's mind and heart are stronger than most people's so she hides her weaknesses when she feels others are in more need of sympathy than she is. She's been so strong for Marius and Enjolras; Valjean thinks she deserves a moment to relinquish any pent up emotions and he is the person she can do that in front of.

He knocks on her bedroom door in case she is not yet dressed since it is very early, but he enters a moment later at her soft call. Cosette is sitting at the vanity, brushing out the long blond plait that she always sleeps in. A smile graces her lips at the sight of her father.

"I brought you some tea," says Valjean, passing her the cup. She takes it, careful not to spill any, and sets it in front of her.

"Thank you, Papa," she says sweetly. They look at each other for a moment, and Valjean senses that Cosette knows he is here for more than just to bring her tea. _She's always been an intuitive child_ , he thinks with a small smile.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright," he says. Cosette looks away from Valjean and takes a sip of the tea. She doesn't look back at him when she sets the cup back on the saucer.

"I am." She's lying.

"You can tell me if you're not."

"I'm fine, Papa," she insists. But Valjean knows that is not the truth by the frustration in her voice. Cosette is never frustrated with him, even when he thinks he deserves anger from her.

"You don't have to do that in front of me. It's not good to keep all those feelings in," he presses. Finally, Cosette raises her head to look him in the eye once again.

"You have enough to worry about, Papa. Please do not worry about me, too," she says. Something twinges in Valjean; he cannot believe Cosette thinks she could ever be a burden to him. She, who brought light into his life when he was engulfed in darkness.

"Do you truly feel as if your troubles are not important enough to be of concern to me? Because I assure you nothing could be further from the truth, Cosette. You will always be my main priority. Please, if anything is troubling you, tell me," pleads Valjean. After all, he's spent the last nine years of his life trying to make sure Cosette felt loved and cared for. He notices some of the usual glow returns to Cosette's face, and she smiles a bit at the idea of how important she is to her father.

"You're right, Papa. Forgive me. I was being foolish in light of everything. I really am okay, in the grand scene of it all, but I do have to admit that last night startled me," she sets. Valjean puts a loving hand on her shoulder.

"I think I'd be concerned if it didn't," he says truthfully. Though he would never admit it to anyone, especially not Cosette, it had startled him a little, too.

"I've just never seen anyone in such a state as Enjolras was last night," she continues. It occurs to Valjean how sheltered he has made Cosette and how new all of this must be for her. "And seeing Marius have to talk to someone that wasn't even there just made it worse. The things he said…my heart broke for him."

Cosette often says that she does not know how she got so lucky to have a generous father like Valjean, but in this moment he thinks for the millionth time that he is the lucky one to have the kind, compassionate daughter that he does. He thinks of how wrong her life could have gone if he hadn't met her mother and swooped in to save her from the Thenardiers, but he can't imagine Cosette being anything other than the ray of pure sunshine that she is. In wave of emotion and raw love for his adopted daughter, Valjean reaches down to kiss the top of her golden head.

"It won't always be like this," he promises. "In a few days, Marius will be up walking. And Enjolras will start to improve before we know it. It will all sort itself out."

He doesn't know who he speaks the reassuring words aloud for: himself or Cosette.


	6. Chapter Six

Walking again on his own is much easier than Marius anticipated. He's still a little shaky on his feet, but he can move around on his own pretty well after two hours of practice. It feels nice to accomplish something after how difficult the past week has been. Marius still shudders a little every time he thinks of the wild look in Enjolras's eye, begging him to make an imaginary ghost leave him alone.

That has been the latest source of Marius's nightmares since it occurred four days ago.

"Well, I think we should call it a day at that, son," says Dr. Bonhomme proudly once Marius has obviously gotten the hang of it. He and Grandfather have been in the room since noon, supporting Marius as he took his first few steps and then staying to catch him the couple of times he stumbled. Marius only fully fell with his body crashing to the ground once, a statistic he is proud of.

"Will you leave the cane here with me?" asks Marius curiously. At the moment, he doesn't have any desire to visit Enjolras again, but he thinks he might like to roam the house occasionally instead of being cooped up in his room all day. Dr. Bonhomme hesitates.

"Perhaps later, Marius. You've only just begun, you know, and I don't want you to fall wandering the house with no one to help you up," he says. Marius sighs and sits back down on his bed. He's a little tired after hours of shuffling around the room.

"Don't fret, my boy. You'll be out and moving in no time," Grandfather encourages, sensing Marius's disappointment. Marius offers a small smile in return – he still hasn't completely forgiven his grandfather for everything that has happened between them in the last few years, but they're both trying.

"I'm going over to Enjolras's room for a bit. Would it make you happier if I sent Cosette over?" asks Dr. Bonhomme. Marius's smile grows; the doctor knows his weak spot.

"Yes, please," he replies and, sensing the disapproval on Grandfather's face, adds, "Don't be so old-fashioned, Grandfather. She won't stay long, I promise. I'd just like a few minutes to speak to her."

Grandfather relents, probably mostly because he's trying to get back in his grandson's good graces. Marius is left alone for only two minutes or so before Cosette enters. She looks lovely in her pink lace dress, her blue eyes dancing and her blonde hair pinned up like a halo.

"Marius, how did the walking lesson go?" she asks with a smile on her face, showing nearly every one of her perfect white teeth. Marius smiles back sheepishly.

"I would hardly call it a _lesson_ ," he says shyly. "I do still recall _how_ to walk."

Cosette laughs and pulls up a chair next to Marius's bed. He knows she won't sit on the bed with him out of respect to his grandfather. They sit there in silence for a few seconds, staring at each other with loving eyes. But then melancholy grabs at Marius's heart and he tears his eyes away from his love to look down at the floor.

"How is Enjolras?" he asks as casually as he can. Cosette and her father spent the morning with Enjolras while Marius worked with the doctor. He'd actually requested that; he didn't want Cosette in the room in case he didn't do well and embarrassed himself.

To his surprise, Cosette's expression does not dim at the mention of Enjolras.

"Papa is going to suggest an ice bath to Dr. Bonhomme. He thinks that might help lower the fever, and he will be much better once the fever breaks," she replies. Marius looks back up at her to see a glimmer of hope in her eyes. He has to hand it to her, she has a strange knack for always remaining positive in front of him.

"That's wonderful. Please let me know if it works," says Marius earnestly. He wants Enjolras to get better more than anything. Cosette takes his hand.

"I thought perhaps you'd want to be there." Marius feels his entire body tense up.

"I…I can't." Realizing she has made a mistake, Cosette withdraws her hand. Marius can't look at her again, but he can feel the concern and sadness in her gaze.

"I'm sorry, Marius," she whispers. "I didn't mean to upset you."

She hasn't upset him. He is upset with himself, angry at himself, disappointed in himself. He should _want_ to be with Enjolras. He should be begging to be in that room, to want to be there for every step of his only surviving friend's recovery. But instead Marius wants to be as far away from Enjolras as possible. It's a terrible, cowardly thing to think, but he's scared. He's scared to watch the only friend he has left slip away from him, drowning in his own demons and the ghosts of their dead friends. Because even though Cosette won't say it aloud Marius can tell Enjolras is not well at all, that he could very well die. Marius can't watch another friend die.

But he can't tell Cosette how he feels because he can't bear to hear the words out loud. Somehow Marius suspects it will make him feel even worse to hear himself voice how terrible of a friend he is being. So instead he just asks Cosette to leave, proclaiming that he is too tired to socialize anymore and needs rests.

* * *

Valjean dumps another bucket of ice into the bathtub. He's glad Dr. Bonhomme agreed to his suggesting of putting Enjolras in an ice bath to bring his fever down, but he's worried it won't work and there won't be anything left to do to help save the boy. He doesn't even know why he cares so much – he has no real attachments to Enjolras – but when Valjean thinks of the strong fearless leader that ran the barricade in comparison to the broken, ill child Enjolras is right now…he can't let that leader fall any further.

When the tub is completely filled with ice, Valjean turns to Dr. Bonhomme and nods. After pulling sweaty bedsheets off Enjolras and removing all his clothes except for his underthings, Valjean gently grabs him under the armpits, careful to avoid his chest injuries, the doctor grabs his feet, and they lift him off the bed to lower him into the bathtub. His head lolls a bit since the last dose of laudanum still has him knocked out, so Valjean sets his chair at the head of the tub and holds Enjolras's blond head out of the water.

"How long does he stay in here?" asks Valjean. Dr. Bonhomme looks uncertain, which makes Valjean uncomfortable. He doesn't dislike the doctor, he's grateful for all the man's done for Marius, and he's sure the doctor rarely has to deal with injuries to the extent of Enjolras's, but he wishes Dr. Bonhomme had more of an idea of how to help Enjolras.

"I'm not quite sure, but I don't think any longer than fifteen minutes would be appropriate," the doctor replies. "We certainly don't want him catching a cold on top of everything else."

So Valjean and Dr. Bonhomme sit by the bathtub for a little over ten minutes, watching as goosebumps appear on Enjolras's pale skin. He's trembling from the cold, even in his unconscious state. When they take him out of the icy bath and lay him back in bed, they wrap extra blankets around him to help warm him back up.

"We'll have to wait until he's warmed to see if the ice has helped his temperature. I have some other patients I have to see today, but I'll be back in a few hours," the doctor says. He leaves with his black medical bag. Valjean looks down at Enjolras and hesitates. On the one hand, he's been practically living in this room for days. He should go eat, get some rest, check on Cosette. Enjolras is not _really_ his concern and sitting in the room won't help him get better. But Valjean can't leave, not yet. Instead, he moves his chair back to Enjolras's bedside and sits down. He wants to be here if the fever breaks and the boy wakes up. Because deep down inside Valjean knows this is Enjolras's last chance. If this doesn't work, if the fever doesn't break and the infection doesn't get better, there is no way to save him.

It takes about two hours, but Valjean can see sweat gathering on Enjolras's forehead and he can tell it's not from the fever increasing or from nightmares. The fever is breaking. He breathes in relief and waits, watching, until Enjolras's blue eyes finally flutter open. Valjean can see the fear in them as Enjolras looks around the room, but they're not glazed over with fever as they were the other times he was awake. Enjolras struggles to sit up, letting out a cry of pain that comes with moving his chest, so Valjean quickly gets up to help him to a seated position. Despite the physical progress of the fever breaking, the boy looks terrified, not at all the leader Valjean remembers from the barricade.

"I…what…where am I? Why are you here?" asks Enjolras. His words towards Valjean are not accusatory at all – clearly he remembers Valjean from the barricade, but doesn't remember the times he woke up with the fever.

"You're in Monsieur Gillenormand's house," Valjean explains. Enjolras's brow furrows in confusion.

"Marius's grandfather?"

"Yes. I brought Marius here after saving him from the barricade. My daughter, Cosette, and I – has Marius mentioned Cosette to you?" inquires Valjean. Enjolras thinks for a minute, then slowly nods.

"Yes."

"I thought he might have. Anyway, Cosette and I were staying here to help care for Marius when you were brought in by the girls from the Café Musain. You've been shot eight times in your chest and once in your leg. The leg's infected, but your fever's broken so it's looking as if you are going to survive this," says Valjean. At first, Enjolras just looks at him with a mixture of disbelief and grief on his face. Then he leans back into his pillows and stares at the ceiling. He doesn't say anything, but Valjean stays in case he has questions or decides he does want to talk. He stays in case Enjolras asks about his friends. For some reason, Valjean feels like he should be the one to break that news.

Minutes later, there's a soft knock at the door. Enjolras doesn't stir so Valjean calls for the visitor to enter. Cosette peeks her face in. Valjean notes that there is a hint of sadness behind her eyes, but now is not the time or place to ask her about it.

"I came to see how Enjolras is," she says softly. She's looking at Valjean, so she doesn't see that Enjolras's eyes are open. Valjean offers her a tiny smile.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" he says, gesturing to the bed. Cosette's gaze shifts to Enjolras and she lets out a small gasp at the sight of him. He tears his eyes away from the ceiling to look at her, but does not make an effort to sit up again.

"The fever's broken! Enjolras, this is wonderful!" she exclaims happily. She approaches the bed and grasps his hand because she knows a hug will only cause him more pain. Valjean watches Enjolras's reaction carefully; he doesn't seem afraid of Cosette, but he doesn't return her beaming smile either.

"You must be Cosette," he says dully. It doesn't escape Valjean's notice that his daughter's smile dims just a little. She must have thought that Enjolras would be in better spirits when the fever was gone and he was more present, but Valjean knows it's going to take a lot more than that to rehabilitate the broken leader.

"Yes, I am," replies Cosette, still with a smile on her face. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink now that you're awake?"

Enjolras frowns and shakes his head. Despite the fever breaking, Valjean is sure he must still feel too bad to keep anything down. But he thinks it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to get something in Enjolras's stomach. After all, it's been nearly a month since he's had real food, real nutrition. They've kept him alive by forcing liquids down his throat in his unconscious state and talking him into eating small hunks of bread when he awoke with nightmares, but he is gaunt compared to the fit young man he was a month ago.

"Cosette, why don't you bring up a cup of tea for Enjolras?" suggests Valjean.

"No, I really don't think –"

"You need something, Enjolras. Please at least try some tea," Valjean interrupts gently but firmly. Enjolras doesn't try to argue again, so Cosette leaves to get the tea. Once she is gone, the two of them sit in silence. But Valjean, despite staring down at his hands because he doesn't know what else to do, can feel Enjolras's intense gaze boring into him. Finally, he looks up. Bright blue eyes, broken, dimmed with sadness and pain, are locked on Valjean's face. They are not the same eyes that Valjean remembers from the barricade; he searches for even the slightest of the past's burning passion in them and comes up emptyhanded.

"Can I…is there something you want to say?" Valjean asks awkwardly. Although he's been a loner most of his life, he usually always has a smooth way with words, an ability to talk his way out of any situation, but he really doesn't know what to say to Enjolras in this moment.

"I…" He looks like he wants to speak, but changes his mind halfway through. "No."

Valjean wonders what he wanted to say as they lapse back into silence. It seems so strange to him that this man who gave such passionate, inspiring speeches at the barricade is now at as much of a loss for words as Valjean is. He wants to say or do something to help Enjolras, but for now he thinks it will be better if he doesn't. Enjolras will speak when he's ready to.

Then Cosette finally returns with the tea, breaking the uncomfortable silence. She still has a smile on her face, bringing her own special light into the room.

"I'm afraid it won't taste very good as there's no milk or sugar in it, but it'll be easy on your stomach," she says, handing Enjolras the cup and saucer. He goes to take it, but his hands are shaking too much. He withdraws his hands and looks down, avoiding eye contact.

"Perhaps later," he mumbles, clearly embarrassed that he can't even hold a cup of tea in this state. But Valjean knows his daughter – she will not give in so easily.

"Nonsense. Let me help you," she replies. Gently, Cosette brings her own delicate hand to Enjolras's chin, lifting it so that he will look at her. She smiles softly, reassuringly, and holds the cup to Enjolras's lips. He takes one tentative sip, then turns away from the cup and grimaces in pain.

"I can't," he whispers. Cosette reaches out a hesitant hand and strokes his matted golden curls. _She's very maternal for a girl who didn't know her mother_ , Valjean thinks.

"Just one more sip?" she begs. "You were drinking three whole cups a day last week."

And it's true. Enjolras's appetite in the last week or so was improving when he was awake, but the laudanum had been keeping his pain at bay then. Once he even ate two whole slices of bread, although that was the day he'd been hallucinating and a friend called Combeferre was telling him he needed to eat. Valjean realizes Enjolras hasn't had a dose in almost eight hours. The pain must be terrible.

But Enjolras willingly takes another sip of tea at Cosette's insistence. It's no good though – Valjean sees the look of nausea pass over Enjolras's face as soon as he swallows. He reaches for the chamber pot, but Cosette is quicker. In a matter of seconds, she's set the tea on the night table and placed the pot under Enjolras's chin. There's not enough in him to constitute real vomiting, so Cosette pulls back his hair and rubs his back soothingly as he retches up bile and dry heaves. When he's done, she gives him a small dose of laudanum. He drifts off to sleep, looking even more broken and defeated than he already was if that's possible.

Valjean sighs.

They have a long way to go.


	7. Chapter Seven

It's been five days since his fever broke, but Enjolras does not feel any better. His chest hurts every time he moves, every time he _breathes_. Pain constantly radiates from the infected wound in his leg. He spends half of his time asleep because he needs the laudanum to control his pain, but when he's awake he's exhausted and sick. And no one understands why he can't keep anything down – _you were eating and drinking just last week_ , they tell him – but the pain is just so intense, so _unbearable_ , that his stomach won't hold it.

It would have been better if he'd died at the barricade.

Enjolras hates thinking that. He knows it's disrespectful to his comrades and friends that did die, but they are why he feels this way. There is no one left for him to want to be alive for, no one that is worth the pain he is enduring. There's Marius, yes, but Enjolras and Marius have never exactly been close. At first, they didn't get along because Marius was a Bonapartist when he met Bossuet and joined Les Amis. Then it was because Marius stopped attending meetings until Courfeyrac dragged him back. And finally, just before the barricade, it was because of Marius's preoccupation with Cosette. The common factor was always that Marius wasn't dedicated enough to Enjolras's cause and, with the exception of Grantaire, Enjolras expected the utmost dedication from all of the group's members.

So his relationship with Marius was never that strong. Definitely not strong enough to give him the motivation he needs to recover. Enjolras needs his guide and his heart…Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

His heart practically stops at the thought of his best friends and he feels the tears welling up in his eyes. Flashes of them collapsing to the ground, their eyes blank and staring, corrupt his mind. A few tears slip. He remembers thinking it was his time, thinking that he was ready to die with the friends he loved for the cause he loved. _Why_ had he survived? Why had the universe let him live when his friends and his cause were gone?

A knock at the door pulls Enjolras out of the depressing depths of his mind.

"Come in," he calls. Really he'd rather be left alone, but he knows whoever it is is only knocking to be polite. The occupants of the house come and go as they please, checking on him, bringing food, and trying to make him talk.

It's Monsieur Fauchelevent. Enjolras feels some relief. Out of all the people constantly in his room, Fauchelevent is the one who bothers him the least. He, at least, takes "no" for an answer.

"How are you this morning?" asks Fauchelevent. Enjolras doesn't look at him.

"I'm fine," he lies. Fauchelevent must know that's not true, but he doesn't lie.

"I just thought I'd let you know that the doctor is coming in after he's finished with Marius," Fauchelevent warns. Enjolras is grateful for the old man. He hates visits from the doctor. Not only are they painful because Dr. Bonhomme has to check on his injuries, but Enjolras finds that all he can think about the whole time is how he wishes Combeferre or Joly were around to tend to him. He longs for the days when the two of them had to team up to force Enjolras to slow down when he was sick or exhausted, and he doesn't know what is worse: the physical pain or the emotional pain.

"How is Marius?" asks Enjolras. He tries to sound like he genuinely cares, but he's really only asking because he feels like he has to. Everyone will worry even more if he doesn't show any interest in his only surviving "friend".

"He's well. There hasn't been any residual bleeding in his collarbone is days and he seems to be getting stronger. Dr. Bonhomme thinks he might only need the cane for a few more weeks," says Fauchelevent with a smile. Enjolras can tell he's grown fond of his potential future son-in-law. Enjolras forces a smile back, trying to pretend like he's not thinking about how he'll be walking with a cane for years if not forever with his leg injury.

"That's good," he says simply. Fauchelevent sits at the edge of Enjolras's bed and rests a comforting hand on his good leg.

"You don't have to pretend around me, Enjolras," he says with a fatherly air about him. "You've been to hell and back. Believe it or not, I…I have, too, at one point in my life. Now, that's a story for another day, but my point is that I don't want you to hide how you feel. It's not good to keep it all in."

Enjolras feels conflicted. He barely knows Fauchelevent, but it might be nice to have someone who he can _really_ talk to, who won't just worry and fuss over him. Except he doesn't even know if he wants to talk. He can't bring himself to talk about the barricade or his friends yet, can barely bring himself to even think about them, and he doesn't want to express his feelings yet. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let Fauchelevent in a little bit. Maybe the old man can help.

"I…there's a lot that I _can't_ express. Not yet," says Enjolras.

"I understand. You don't have to say anything until you're ready." It is this understanding that makes Enjolras feel like he can open up, even if it's only a little.

"The others…they mean well, but I can't make _them_ understand. I don't _want_ to be like this. I'm usually not. When I'm sick or hurt or lacking in sleep, I usually fight to keep going, to keep working. I don't ever just halt like this. Combeferre and Joly will tell you it's my worst quality, they –" Enjolras breaks off, realizing how he referred to his friends in the present tense and also how painful it is to speak of them at all. But he wants to keep going, just not with the topic of his friends. "I would like to be the way I usually I am. I would _like_ to be fighting to get out of bed, to be eating normally, to get back into my normal routine. But I can't and I can't explain why. The past few days have felt so strange and I can't even remember the last few weeks. I _can't_ bounce back as easily as they want me to."

Fauchelevent opens his mouth to answer, but Dr. Bonhomme enters at that exact moment. Enjolras feels the openness he had shrink back into him and he goes back to avoiding eye contact with both Fauchelevent and the doctor. He hears Fauchelevent sigh ever so slightly – he's clearly disappointed that the doctor ruined whatever progress the two of them had just made.

"Good morning, Enjolras, Monsieur Fauchelevent," greets Dr. Bonhomme, unaware of the moment he just squashed. "How are you feeling, Enjolras?"

It's no use trying to lie to the doctor; it won't serve Enjolras any purpose.

"Not well," Enjolras admits. Dr. Bonhomme sets down his medical bag and pulls out fresh bandages and disinfectants.

"Can you be more specific?" he asks. Enjolras wants to roll his eyes, but refrains. _I feel the same way I felt yesterday and the day before and the day before_ , he thinks bitterly. But he cooperates nonetheless.

"There's still a lot of pain. I can't move without pain. And the Gillenormands' maid brought me more tea earlier; I tried to drink it to no avail," he explains. Enjolras reaches to unbutton his shirt because he knows it will have to be removed for the doctor to change his bandages, and as if to prove his point he grimaces in pain. It hurts, just moving his arms, thanks to the numerous wounds that penetrate his chest. But he wants to do this on his own. He wants to feel at least a little like his old stubborn self again.

His hands shake like crazy and the eight stabbing pains in his chest are overwhelming, but Enjolras manages to undo all twelve buttons. That's as far as he can go; his arms fall to his side without removing the shirt. He closes his eyes, fighting again the waves of nausea that are washing over him from the exertion.

 _Do not be sick_ , he orders himself. _Not again. Not in front of people._

Enjolras keeps his eyes closed until he's sure he won't vomit. When he opens them, Dr. Bonhomme and Fauchelevent are staring at him concernedly, but he's grateful that they didn't try to intervene. He has a feeling he missed Fauchelevent giving the doctor a look that told him _not_ to intervene.

"I think…I might need some help…getting undressed the rest of the way," Enjolras says quietly. His voice is trembling. Fauchelevent gently helps him sit up and leans him forward for Dr. Bonhomme to pull his shirt off. Fauchelevent keeps his grip on Enjolras so that Dr. Bonhomme can cut off the old bandages and inspect his injuries. Enjolras just stays still the whole time, breathing as shallowly as possible in an attempt to control the pain and nausea.

"Well, there's still quite a bit of residual bleeding, but that's to be expected. It looks like two of the wounds are still a little infected, so I'll put more medicine on them. Otherwise your chest appears to be healing quite nicely," says Dr. Bonhomme. He turns to get the disinfectant.

This is the part Enjolras hates.

"Are you ready?" the doctor asks. Enjolras braces himself and nods. Dr. Bonhomme is as gentle as he can be as he dabs ointment on each of the eight wounds, but it's still excruciating. Enjolras wants to scream at how painful the touch to his injuries are, but instead he just scrunches up his face, holds his breath, focuses on not passing out, and tries to keep it all in.

And then it's over. Dr. Bonhomme wraps clean bandages around Enjolras's chest, and Fauchelevent lowers him back into his pillows. The intense pain starts to ebb until Enjolras is left with the usual pain that he is becoming accustomed to.

Next is his leg. Thankfully, Enjolras hasn't had any assistance putting pants on yet, so all Dr. Bonhomme has to do is pull back the bedsheets. It requires no movement on Enjolras's part.

Blood stains the old bandage and it's not residual bleeding. There's too much to be residual. Enjolras suspects it occurred in his sleep last night. He had another nightmare and when he woke up his arms and legs were just settling down from flailing during his dream. He should mention that to Dr. Bonhomme, but he doesn't want to talk about his nightmares so he remains silent while the doctor clicks his tongue disapprovingly and changes the bandages.

"I still don't like the look of your leg. The infection's healed some since the fever broke, but it's slow. We'll have to continue keeping a close eye on it," he says. Enjolras suppresses a sigh. He wants to be left alone, not have closer eyes on him.

He wonders if he'll ever be independent again.

* * *

Cosette finds herself alone and awake for the first time in days. Since Enjolras's fever broke, she'd only been by herself when sleeping. The rest of her time has been spent running between Enjolras and Marius's rooms, as well as helping the Gillenormands' cook down in the kitchen. But now Marius is having another walking lesson that Cosette is banned from, Enjolras is asleep thanks to another dose of laudanum, and Papa has gone to their own house to check in on their maid, Toussaint.

So Cosette is alone in her room. She could go to the library to read or sit in the back garden, but she would still be by herself and Cosette has come to realize in the past few weeks that she rather enjoys being around people. She spent most of her life alone - the Thenardiers pretended she didn't exist unless they needed a chore done and then even with Papa it was always just the two of them – and she doesn't care for the lonely silence that accompanies it.

Marius will be upset if she intrudes on his rehabilitation before he is finished, that Cosette is sure of. But she thinks there can't be any harm in sitting with Enjolras while he sleeps, so she rises from her bed and makes the short journey across the hall to his bedroom.

To her surprise, Enjolras is awake, sitting up in his bed, and looking distressed.

"Enjolras, are you alright?" Cosette asks in concern. Enjolras jumps at the sound of her voice – she'd been quiet because she thought he was sleeping and he didn't hear her come in – and then grimaces in pain from the movement.

"I'm fine," he says, gritting his teeth against the pain. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, I just got sort of lonely sitting on my own. You don't look alright. Should you have another dose of laudanum?"

"No, it's only been two hours since my last dose."

Cosette is surprised. Usually a dose knocks him out for hours.

"Why are you awake then?" she asks curiously. Anger contorts Enjolras's face.

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?" he shouts. Without even thinking, Cosette takes a step backwards. Even weak and in pain, Enjolras is terrifying when he is mad, like an angel from hell. It's worse, too, because Cosette hasn't been yelled at since she left the inn. Papa hardly ever raises his voice to her let alone yell.

"Okay. My apologies, monsieur. I'll go now," she says timidly and turns to leave. Enjolras's expression softens and he calls out "Wait!" just as Cosette's hand brushes the door knob. She does as he commands.

"I should be the one apologizing, mademoiselle. You've done nothing except catch me at a bad time. I…I awoke from some rather… _vivid_ nightmares. That, combined with some, uh, discomfort in my injuries has put me in a rather bad mood, I suppose," he apologizes awkwardly. It saddens Cosette to see him stumbling over his words. From the way Marius speaks of him, he was always so eloquent, so passionate, when he spoke. Cosette sits down in the chair that has been a constant at Enjolras's bedside since his arrival.

"Let's just say neither of us needs to apologize. You have been through quite a lot. No one expects you to be happy and normal right now," she says comfortingly. But that just makes Enjolras retreat deeper into himself. A cloud passes over his face and Cosette wishes she knew what he was thinking. She tries a different approach to get him to open up.

"Perhaps talking about what is troubling you would help?" she asks. Enjolras shakes his head.

"Everyone says that. It won't. It'll only make me fall apart even more, I fear."

"Sometimes you need to fall apart to put yourself back together correctly."

There is silence between them as Enjolras contemplates her words. Cosette can see that they've made some sort of impact on him, even if it won't bring him to speak yet.

"I can't talk yet, but maybe you can," he finally says quietly.

"What do you mean?" Cosette has no idea what she could say that would help Enjolras at all.

"'I don't…I don't remember anything after…after the barricade. But you all say I've been here for weeks and yet all I can remember is the past week. I thought about asking your father yesterday, but the doctor came in to change my bandages and I lost my nerve. So perhaps you could tell me…what happened to me in those weeks?" asks Enjolras. He's shy, like a child asking permission, and Cosette feels her heart stop. She already had to tell Marius the truth about his friends; she doesn't want to be the one to tell Enjolras about all the suffering he endured. But she wants him to talk, wants to help soothe the emotional trauma.

"Alright," she says slowly. "But I have to warn you, I don't know if I'm the right person to do this."

"There is no _right_ person to do this," Enjolras replies, and even as he looks at her Cosette can see how dead his eyes are inside. For a second, she doubts what she is about to tell him, worries that it might just make things worse. But she has a feeling Enjolras will not let it go if she doesn't.

"You were unconscious when you got here. They found your body hanging out a café window and realized you had a pulse, so they brought you here before the police got wind of your survival. Papa gave you some of his blood, you'd lost so much," Cosette begins. For the next half an hour, she tells him about how he was always thrashing in his sleep from nightmares and making his injuries bleed more, how he would wake up screaming at least three times a day, and the hallucinations.

His face when she tells him how many times he hallucinated his dead friends is heartbreaking.

"I think maybe that's enough for now," says Cosette, rising to leave. Without looking at her, Enjolras grabs her wrist. When he speaks, his voice is drenched in pain and not the kind that his injuries cause him.

"No. Tell me what I saw. Please."

Cosette does not want to do this, but her mouth opens and the words spill out anyway.

"The first time you saw someone you called R, but Marius called him Grantaire? You were seeing his ghost, though, and you were upset that he…that he wouldn't believe his death wasn't your fault. You only settled down once Marius told him to forgive you and leave. Several times you spoke of Combeferre and Joly, said they were in the room with you and you wanted _them_ to care for you instead of Dr. Bonhomme. And the last one…" Cosette takes a deep breath. "The last one was three days before your fever broke. You were laughing at jokes that Courfeyrac and Bahorel were telling you."

Cosette doesn't think she'll ever forget that moment. It was terrifying, worse than when Enjolras was screaming, to watch him laugh manically at figures who weren't even there. He'd laughed so hard that he started screaming in pain, but kept laughing anyway.

 _"_ _Why aren't you laughing?"_ he'd demanded. _"Courfeyrac, tell it again, they must not have heard you."_

And at the encouragement of Papa, they'd all started to laugh in an eerie, uneasy kind of way to please Enjolras.

Cosette can't think of a time she'd ever felt more uncomfortable in her life.

Except for now maybe.

Enjolras is staring straight ahead, his face completely blank, completely unreadable. He looks…hollow. Cosette has finished speaking, but he doesn't _do_ anything or _say_ anything. She immediately begins to worry that following his request has done even more damage.

"Enjolras – "

"You can go now." He still doesn't look at her as he speaks. Cosette doesn't follow his orders this time. Instead, she reaches out to touch him, but he jerks his hand away. Then, finally, he tilts his head so that his gaze meets hers, and Cosette can see the pain, the brokenness, the desperation that has finally exploded in those bright blue eyes. Enjolras utters one more word.

"Please."


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This is where the brief suicidal thoughts come into play. It's a short moment, but please don't read if it's going to trigger you!

As soon as Cosette leaves, a single dry sob escapes Enjolras's mouth. He clasps a hand to his lips to keep any more sounds from escaping, but hot tears start to spill down his cheeks and he can't stop them.

He feels like he is falling down through an endless, dark black hole.

He is being swallowed by depression and he cannot escape.

Now he _has_ to think of his friends, of his comrades. It wasn't as if he completely ignored their fates before, but he had to admit he was thinking of them as little as possible ever since he regained sense of himself. When possible, he pushes the thoughts away. When unavoidable, he dwells on them for only minutes because it's too painful to think on it longer.

Now Enjolras has to. Because of the hallucinations. Because it shakes him to his very core to think that he saw Grantaire's angry ghost, that Courfeyrac and Bahorel were joking with him, that he actually did ask for Combeferre and Joly the way he's wished he could all week.

Because their deaths play over and over at night in his head when he's sleeping.

It _is_ his fault that Grantaire is dead. The drunken cynic didn't really believe in Enjolras's ideas. He wouldn't have even been there if he wasn't so loyal to Enjolras. He loved Enjolras, and Enjolras had been too stupid, too preoccupied, to realize. All he ever did was reprimand Grantaire for his drinking, get frustrated with his cynicism, and scold him for his lack of beliefs.

_You do not believe in anything._

_I believe in you._

And believe in him he did. Grantaire loved and believed in him so much he was willing to die for him. But Enjolras was too stubborn to notice until Grantaire was declaring his support for the cause and asking permission to die alongside him, as if he was not worthy to make that choice on his own. It wasn't until then that Enjolras realized he might have loved Grantaire back if he hadn't been so focused on revolution.

And it isn't until now that Enjolras realizes tears are pouring down his face. He pushes Grantaire out of his mind – he's dwelled on him enough for now – and a face he has never thought of before comes into his mind: Eponine Thenardier. The first to die at the barricade. Her death shook him rather than upset him _because_ she was the first casualty to come from _his_ beliefs, _his_ cause. Yes, it was all for France, for a better country, but that didn't stop him from being completely shocked when the first comrade at the barricade he organized fell.

Or heartbroken when Eponine's younger brother, Gavroche, fell as he tried to collect ammunition for them.

That is a moment that will haunt him even more so than the others for the rest of his life. Though Enjolras would give anything to have his friends back with him, they were all grown men who made the decision to fight with him, who were prepared to die with him. Gavroche was just a child. He may have been as loyal and dedicated to Les Amis and to the idea of a free country as the rest of them were, but he was a child nonetheless. Enjolras shouldn't have let him anywhere near the barricade let alone given him a gun.

He will never forget hearing Combeferre hiss at Gavroche to come back, trying to keep his voice down so as not to alert Courfeyrac. He will never forget the moment Courfeyrac realized what was going on nor how Combeferre and Bahorel had to hold him back from leaping over the barricade. Courfeyrac's screams, begging Gavroche to get back, ring in Enjolras's ears. He remembers the way Courfeyrac broke loose when Gavroche was shot the first time, how they grabbed him again, and how he fought hard against them to get to the little gamin who was more a brother to Courfeyrac than to any of them.

Most importantly, he will never forget the wide, blank look in Gavroche's dead eyes after being shot a second time. At this point, Enjolras let Courfeyrac go so that he could collect the boy's body. The sound and sight of Courfeyrac sobbing on the ground with Gavroche laying still in his arms will never leave Enjolras.

Suddenly he just can't take it anymore. The flashes of his friends dying, their screams and cries ringing in his ears, and the _guilt_ , the guilt that never ceases, that is constantly telling him it is his fault they are all dead. Once more, the thought that he should have died at the barricade as well crosses his mind…

His bottle of laudanum is sitting on the table beside him. Enjolras's eyes shift to it, and he thinks about how the bottle is about half full. The laudanum is powerful. It probably wouldn't take more than a quarter of the bottle to send him into a coma. Half a bottle would kill him for sure.

Enjolras shouldn't want to do this. How can he have such blatant disrespect for life when his friends died for such a noble cause?

But he does. He finds himself reaching for the bottle.

 _Stop_ , the rational part of his mind says. Enjolras unscrews the lid anyway. He brings the bottle to his lips, chuckling darkly at the irony of how he would always tell Grantaire to put his bottle down and now here he was.

 _Don't_ , his mind says. _This a cowardly escape. Your friends wouldn't want this. They didn't die for this._

Enjolras lowers the bottle. His hands are shaking. Slowly, he puts the cap back on and replaces the bottle on the table. The inner sections of his mind are right – he cannot kill himself no matter how much he wants to at that moment. Because it _is_ cowardly and it is disrespectful to his friends.

They are the ones destroying him and holding him together all at the same time.

* * *

Marius doesn't know what's going on, but he wants to see Enjolras and no one will let him. He feels like he is finally ready to face his friend and now he is not allowed to.

"He's just been a bit low the past few days," was Cosette's explanation. "Give him some time to lift his spirits and then you can see him."

But it's been days and Marius is still forbidden. His walking exercises have extended to the hallway now and every time he shuffles past Enjolras's room at the end of the hall the door is shut. The only proof he has of Enjolras still being alive are Enjolras's screams from constant nightmares in the middle of the night.

"I want to _see_ him," demands Marius one afternoon as Dr. Bonhomme changes his bandages. The collarbone wound looks good – the area around it is a soft pink and puckered instead of red and angry like it used to be.

"He's just not up to it yet, son," the doctor replies. "But you're healing nicely. If you can master the stairs with the cane, I'd allow a few hours a day out of bed."

" _Why_ isn't he up to it?" Marius presses. He's glad he's recovering at a decent rate, that his infection and injury were not as bad as they could have been, but he's not letting the subject of Enjolras go.

"Marius, he's depressed. What's happened to you two – it's all starting to hit him. I know you're worried about him, but I'd really like to see some improvement in his emotional stability before you see him," explains Dr. Bonhomme. Marius feels anger flare up inside him, an emotion he rarely experiences.

"But I can help him! I went through the same thing he did. I think about the friends we lost every day. I might not wake up screaming like Enjolras does, but I have nightmares about it, too. Let me _help_ him," insists Marius. Dr. Bonhomme sighs.

"Not now, Marius. It's just not the right time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go speak to your grandfather about your medical care after my constant presence is no longer required." And with that, the doctor is gone. Marius sits in his bed, fuming. He knows he is the only person in this house that can relate to Enjolras, the only one who can maybe help him. _Why don't they_ see _that?_ he thinks in frustration.

Well, they aren't keeping him in this room away from the friend who needs him. In one of the few spurts of rebellion in his life, Marius struggles out of bed. There is no way he can get a shirt, vest, and cravat on with one arm tied in a sling, so he just clumsily puts on a pair of pants under his nightshirt with one hand. His cane rests beside his bed; he grabs it with his free hand and starts to stumble across the room without any shoes on.

The walk down the hall is nerve-wracking and seems a lot longer than it is. The surge of confidence Marius had when leaving his room has gone down, and now he is just slightly frightened that someone is going to catch him in his escape. Particularly, he's frightened of Cosette – she looks small and delicate, but Marius does not fancy the severe scolding he knows he will receive if she finds out what he is doing.

But thankfully he makes it to the end of the hall and in front of Enjolras's door without coming across anyone. He can hear voices wafting up the stairs from the parlor, and he suspects that Fauchelevent and Cosette have joined the conversation between Dr. Bonhomme and Grandfather regarding Marius's future care.

He knocks on Enjolras's door lightly.

"Come in." Enjolras's voice is dull, lifeless. It shocks Marius a bit – he's used to that voice being commanding and passionate. He wonders if this is such a good idea after all, but he enters the room anyway.

Marius hasn't seen Enjolras since the hallucination incident. He doesn't know which is worse: Enjolras then or Enjolras now.

The once intimidating leader is withered away under his bedsheets. He is thin, too thin, and as pale as a ghost. His golden curls are matted and lank; there is absolutely no light in his bright blue eyes. When he turns his head to look at Marius, it is as if he is looking right through him.

"Is now a bad time?" asks Marius nervously. Enjolras looks back down at his hands.

"No," he says after hesitating for a second. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to come see you. Maybe talk."

"I'm not much entertaining company right now, you'll find."

"That's alright."

"I just took more laudanum. I'll probably fall asleep soon." Enjolras is indirectly trying to get Marius to leave.

"I'll leave if you do," Marius replies. He's gone through too much to get in this room; he's not backing down now.

"What do you _want_ , Marius?" Enjolras asks in annoyance. _At least it's some kind of emotion,_ thinks Marius.

"I want to see what's going on with you. Cosette, Dr. Bonhomme, they all say you're…depressed," says Marius. He isn't sure if this is the right approach, but it's all he has.

"Gee, I wonder why?" asks Enjolras sarcastically. Marius fidgets with his cane as he tries to think of the best thing to say.

"I just thought maybe you'd want to talk. You know, to somebody who knows what you're going through."

Enjolras's head snaps up to look at Marius. There is now pain, suffering, and anger in his eyes. At a closer glance, Marius sees that his hands are trembling in his lap.

"You don't know what I'm going through," he spits out. That hits Marius hard, like another bullet.

"What…what do you mean?" he stutters. "I was at the barricade, too. I saw our friends die, too."

"Not the way I did," replies Enjolras, his voice rising. "You got shot fifteen minutes into the second fight. You witnessed some deaths, yes, but you…you didn't hear the desperation in their voices. You didn't see Combeferre pulling Joly back, trying to _protect_ him. You didn't have three of your best friends shot out from under right next to you. You didn't…you didn't _see_ …Grantaire…and I didn't want…"

He can't finish his rant because sobs have made their way into his shaking voice and now tears are running down his face. He looks so broken; Marius doesn't know what to do. Before he knows it, the company from downstairs are bursting into the room, all looking quite bewildered. Marius hadn't realized how loud Enjolras was being; they must have been alerted when they heard his voice.

" _What_ is going on?" demands Fauchelevent, looking from Marius's stunned face to Enjolras sobbing into his hands.

"I-I don't know, I just wanted to help, I don't know…" mutters Marius. Fauchelevent goes to Enjolras's side and lays a comforting hand on his back.

"It's alright, son. Please calm down. It's alright," he says in his soothing voice. But Enjolras just tries to shake off the old man and lunges towards Marius.

"Get out!" he screams. "Get him out!"

Marius can't quite comprehend what is happening. He thought he would help Enjolras, but instead he has made his deranged friend crack even more. Cosette and Grandfather each take one of his arms and escort him out of the room. As he leaves, he twists his head around and sees Fauchelevent laying Enjolras back down against his pillows.

There is blood spreading across Enjolras's nightshirt.

* * *

"I _told_ him Enjolras wasn't ready yet!" exclaims Dr. Bonhomme furiously as he quickly removed Enjolras's now bloodstained shirt. Red seeps through the bandages that are wrapped around his chest.

"Why is it bleeding so badly again?" Valjean asks. They'd finally gotten the wounds to stop bleeding about a week and a half ago, with the exception of residual bleeding. Now here they are with Enjolras bleeding again and in tears. Valjean has no idea what happened other than they heard Enjolras shouting from down in the parlor and immediately walked in to find Marius, who was supposed to be temporarily banned from the room.

"He's agitated the wounds from moving so much and getting so worked up. They've only just begun to heal, it wouldn't have taken much to make them bleed again," the doctor explains. He cuts off the old bandages and works quickly to press gauze against the wounds to stop the bleeding. Valjean helps him.

"Just _leave_ it," cries Enjolras, his head resting against the pillows. He looks pale and clammy, even more so than usual. Valjean and Dr. Bonhomme exchange worried looks at this.

"We'll have you sorted out in a minute, Enjolras," promises Valjean.

"He can't afford to lose any more blood," Dr. Bonhomme whispers to Valjean. It's true; he's lost too much already. They were finally getting him on the path to recovery and now he's gone back two steps.

"I'll give him more," he replies without hesitation. He'll do anything he can to keep this boy alive.

Enjolras's breathing become shallow and ragged as they try to stop the bleeding. It's only a matter of minutes before he passes out, and neither of them call tell if it's from his earlier dose of laudanum or from blood loss.

"We need to do the transfusion now," says Dr. Bonhomme. Luckily, he's kept the necessary equipment in his bag since Enjolras arrived. They get set up and Valjean gives another pint. It's not as much as the first time, so he doesn't feel as faint afterwards and he doesn't leave for nourishment. Instead, he and Dr. Bonhomme bandage Enjolras's chest again, check his leg to make sure it's not bleeding as well, and sit at his bedside, watching his unconscious figure.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" asks Valjean quietly. He's asking about the physical odds, of course; he knows it will take a lot to get Enjolras emotionally stable again.

"The transfusion worked well the first time, so it should again. I think, barring any further complications, it'll be only two more weeks until he's strong enough to get out of bed," the doctor replies. But _barring any further complications_ is the key phrase here. Because when Enjolras arrived Valjean wouldn't have guessed that he would still be ill and bedridden nearly six weeks later.

 _It's the people who fly the furthest who fall the hardest,_ he thinks.


	9. Chapter Nine

_Enjolras is at the barricade again. But it looks different this time…sunny, light. He looks around. To his surprise, Jehan is sitting on a chair next to one of the pianos that was tossed down when they built the barricade. He is smiling and gets up to meet Enjolras when they make eye contact._

_"_ _Hello, my friend," he says, pulling Enjolras into a hug._

_"_ _Prouvaire," is all Enjolras can manage._

_"_ _It saddens me to see you like this," says Jehan. "You were always the strongest of all of us, always the one we could depend on."_

_"_ _I'm sorry. I tried, but I…" Enjolras's voice trails off because he doesn't know what to say. He hasn't tried, not really. He's been wallowing in his grief._

_"_ _Please, don't apologize. I'm not blaming you, not at all. Any one of us would struggle with your burden if we were in your shoes," Prouvaire says, placing a comforting hand on Enjolras's shoulder._

_"_ _We just want you to start healing, to try to get past this." It is Courfeyrac's voice this time. In a second, he appears beside Prouvaire and also hugs Enjolras._

_"_ _I don't know how," Enjolras admits._

_"_ _The first step is to stop blaming yourself for our fates," says Combeferre, coming to take his place next to Courfeyrac._

_"_ _But it_ is _my_ _fault," insists Enjolras. "I was your leader. You entrusted your lives to me and I failed you."_

_"_ _Apollo, don't think so highly of yourself." When Grantaire appears, he grasps Enjolras's hand and strokes his blond curls before going to stand next to Combeferre. "We were in charge of our own lives, not you."_

_Bahorel shows up next to Grantaire._

_"_ _R is right, Enjolras. It is our own fault we let our lives get away from us," he says with a grin on his lips. Next come Joly and Bossuet, always a pair even in death or in dreams._

_"_ _Speak for yourself. I didn't let mine get away from me; I merely misplaced it, such is my luck," jokes Bossuet. They all laugh at that, even Enjolras. But it is short lived laughter before Enjolras feels a surge of melancholy again._

_"_ _Life…it's not the same without all of you. It doesn't feel right," he says. Feuilly, the final member of Les Amis, joins them._

_"_ _Enjolras, I feel your pain," he says. "Until I found the lot of you, I was alone. I watched my family die. It's not easy to move on, but it is possible."_

_"_ _How?" asks Enjolras desperately. He wants to know, wants to be able to find some sense of balance and normality._

_"_ _We can't give you the answers," replies Feuilly sadly._

_"_ _We can only tell you that we do not blame you at all and that we want you to keep going," adds Combeferre._

_"_ _I want you be with all of you," whispers Enjolras, almost childlike. Courfeyrac smiles and goes to put his arm around Enjolras._

_"_ _We want to be with you, too. Who's going to make sure you don't work yourself to death?" he laughs. "But we'll all just have to find a way to get by."_

_"_ _We love you, Apollo," says Grantaire. Enjolras looks him straight in the eye._

_"_ _I love you, too." His gaze lingers on Grantaire for a moment, trying to communicate all his unsaid feelings, and then he looks around at the rest of his friends so that they know they are included in his love._

_"_ _Just know we are always with you, even if you can't see us," says Joly. Prouvaire offers Enjolras a smile and looks up at the clear blue sky above the barricade._

_"_ _We are the sunshine, my friend," he says in his usual poetic nature. "When you feel the sun on your face, it is us saying hello. It is us reminding you that we will never leave you and that we want you to be strong in the face of tragedy."_

_In all the time the two have known each other, Jehan's words have never failed Enjolras and that continues to hold true. There is still sadness, still grief, but Enjolras feels as if a tremendous weight has been lifted from his chest. As he looks around at the semi-circle of friends around him, a smile crosses his lips._

_"_ _It has been a privilege, being friend to all of you," he says, a tear slipping down his face. But it's a tear of nostalgia and contentment, something Enjolras hasn't ever truly felt. Combeferre, his best friend out of all of them, hugs him and then they all disappear._

For the first time in over a month and a half, Enjolras does not wake up screaming. He does, however, feel unsettled.

That was not a normal dream.

They want him to move on. To be happy. They do not blame him.

Enjolras feels as if eight ghosts are standing in the room with him and chills run down his spine.

* * *

Cosette is truly shocked the next morning when she enters Enjolras's room with his breakfast tray to find him already sitting up and expectantly waiting for her. Usually, he is still sleeping because his nights are so punctured with nightmares. Then she realizes she did not wake up to his screaming once last night.

"Good morning," he says as she sets down his tray on the night table. Again, Cosette finds herself surprised. His voice is not exactly full of life, but Enjolras hardly ever greets her in the mornings and when he does it is strained and dull, as if he is only doing because he feels he has to.

"Good morning, monsieur," she replies. "You seem to be feeling better this morning?"

It is a question, not a statement, because Cosette has learned not to expect anything when it comes to Enjolras.

"Well…" he speaks slowly and carefully, like he is trying to choose the right words. "My injuries are quite painful this morning. I should definitely require a dose of laudanum after breakfast. But I…I find myself in better spirits than I have been."

Cosette smiles.

"That's something, isn't it?" She holds his usual cup of tea up to his lips, but Enjolras shakes his head. He winces a little as he does so, and Cosette wonders if it's going to be one of those days where he is in too much pain to keep anything down. They have quite a lot of those days.

But he surprises her yet again.

"I'd like to try holding it myself," he says. He sounds unsure, but looks determined. Cosette lowers the cup to meet his trembling hands. She only lets go when she's sure he has a grip on it, but the moment she lets go the whole cup starts to shake and tea spills over the edges onto the bed sheets.

"Damn it," whispers Enjolras. Cosette can tell he is embarrassed, but she doesn't want to ruin whatever motivation he had by taking the cup from him so she wraps her hands around his, stilling them, and helps him guide the cup to his lips. He drinks from it and then lets her take it away.

"Small steps," she says with a little smile. Enjolras doesn't look at her, but he does nod in acknowledgement. Cosette wants so badly to ask what changed his attitude overnight, but she senses it might not be something he wants to talk about so she leaves it be. Instead, she pulls off the tea-stained sheet.

"I'll go get this washed and find you a clean one," she says, "and then I'll give you the laudanum when I get back. Is that manageable with your pain?"

She doesn't miss Enjolras hesitate, but he says "yes" anyway. However, as Cosette goes to leave in search of a new sheet, she hears him let out a small gasp of pain that he is very clearly trying to suppress. She sets the sheet on the floor and goes back to his bedside to pour him a dose.

"I can wait. It's just one of those waves, it'll die down in a minute," Enjolras protests through gritted teeth.

"Enjolras, I'm all in favor for this newfound determination in you, but you don't have to sit here in pain just because you've decided you want to get better," says Cosette firmly. Enjolras doesn't argue with her; he willingly swallows the medicine. Cosette gives him a smile, retrieves the sheet, and leaves the room.

She takes the sheet down to the wash room, but does not immediately go to find a clean one. Instead, she goes to her father's room. The door is shut, as usual. As much as he has always loved spending time with her, Cosette knows Papa enjoys his alone time. She knocks on the door.

"Who is it?" he calls from in the room.

"It's Cosette."

"Oh, come in, dear." Cosette opens the door. Papa is sitting at his desk, looking weary. She smiles lovingly at him.

"Would you not have let me in if I were someone else?" she teases. He laughs, but it is forced. The whole situation with Enjolras has been tough on him; Cosette figures he must not have slept in weeks because she can hear his tread going to Enjolras's room in the middle of the night to check on him when he wakes up screaming.

"Truthfully? Not unless it was of utmost importance," admits Papa. "But I always have time for you. What is it?"

"Something is going on with Enjolras," she replies. Papa tenses and straightens up in alarm. Realizing she's made it seem as if something is wrong, Cosette quickly corrects herself. "Not in a bad way, nothing to _worry_ about. He's…he seems more, well, _alive_. Last night he wouldn't even speak to me when I took my turn to give him his medicine. I practically had to shove the laudanum down his throat, he was so uncooperative. But this morning he greeted me, he asked if he could hold the teacup, let me help him instead of giving up when he failed, and nearly insisted on waiting out his pain until I made him take the laudanum. It's as if his mood has made a complete turnaround overnight."

Papa is silent for a moment. He's thinking.

"He didn't have any nightmares last night. Or at least none that scared him enough to scream," he notes.

"Yes, I noticed that, too."

"Have you asked him about it?"

"No. I wanted to, but I was afraid to ruin it."

"Understandably so. Perhaps I will speak with him later."

After that, Papa seems lost in thought. Cosette wonders what is running through his mind. There is silence between them until she breaks it by saying, "Well, I promised Enjolras I'd be back shortly with a fresh sheet. He spilled tea all over his."

"You'd best not keep him waiting," replies Papa. He gets up to kiss her cheek, and she leaves. When she returns to Enjolras's room with a fresh sheet, Cosette finds him fast asleep. He looks more peaceful and angelic in sleep than Cosette has ever seen him. Smiling at the sight, she tucks the sheet in over his sleeping figure and shuts the door behind her when she exits.

* * *

Marius for the life of him can't figure out what he is doing in Enjolras's room. Their encounter last week was enough to make him want to stay out of that room for the rest of his life. It's not because he's angry with Enjolras – he isn't – but because he fears he only upsets Enjolras more and because it was quite unsettling to see Enjolras break down like that. At least Marius could tell himself the hallucinations were only from the fever. But Enjolras sobbing and screaming like that? That was pure grief, complete brokenness.

And yet here Marius is sitting in a chair at Enjolras's bedside. Enjolras had specifically asked for him, although he would not say why, and now they sit in complete silence, neither one looking at the other. But then Marius hears Enjolras take in a deep breath and he looks up to listen to what Enjolras is about to say.

"Marius, I…" He hesitates for a moment, still looking down in his lap instead of at Marius. "I asked for you because I want to apologize for last week. I was in a very dark place, darker than anywhere I've ever been in my life, and I took it out on you. I'm still struggling to get out of that place, honestly, but I'm trying harder now at least and I've realized it wasn't fair to say such things to you."

Marius turns red with embarrassment. Enjolras hardly ever feels the need to apologize; usually he's under the impression that all of his acts are justified in some way.

"Enjolras, you don't have to –"

"Yes, I do. I said horrible things to you. I made it seem as if your pain did not matter compared to mine and that was wrong of me. You lost friends, too, and that matters," interrupts Enjolras.

"I forgive you," Marius says quietly. Then, out of curiosity, he asks, "What brought about this sudden change?"

Enjolras falls silent again, and Marius worries he's ruined the moment. But then Enjolras looks him directly in the eye.

"Our friends came to me in a dream," he says. His voice is shaking. "They…they told me that I was not to blame for their deaths and that they wanted me to move on. I do not know how, they did not tell me how, but I'm going to try…for them."

So Enjolras is just hiding his true pain under a mask until he figures out how to be himself again. At least, that's what Marius takes away from his explanation. He reaches out and takes one of Enjolras's hands.

"I know you'd rather have Combeferre or Courfeyrac here, but you're stuck with me. So I want you to know that you don't have to lie to me and you _can_ talk to me. I might not have the right words all the time like our other friends did, but it's important to me to still have you," says Marius. Enjolras gives him a small smile.

The truth is Marius wouldn't have picked Enjolras to be his sole surviving friend either. His closest friend in Les Amis was Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac had introduced him to the group and let Marius live with him for a while after he'd left his grandfather's house. Enjolras wasn't even his second choice – that was Bossuet, whom he'd liked ever since that day Bossuet covered for his absence in their law course by answering for Marius when the professor called roll. Marius liked, admired, and respected Enjolras; he was fearless and a great leader, but the two of them had never exactly been great friends.

But now they were all each other had and Marius was not going to let that go so easily.


	10. Chapter Ten

~~~~

The next two weeks were difficult, but Valjean was determined to see Enjolras through them. There were good days and bad days – on the good days, Enjolras made it out of bed with some assistance to sit in the chair in his room; on the bad days, he laid in bed without speaking. Valjean expected this. From the moment Cosette told him Enjolras seemed to be improving, he knew they were going to have some ups and downs.

But at least Enjolras is trying.

Today is an in-between day. Enjolras insisted on getting out of bed, but he sits pale and clammy in the chair. His wounds are clearly hurting him more than they have been though he won't admit it. Still, Valjean can tell by the way he refused lunch and is taking extra care to breathe shallowly so that his chest does not move too much.

"When do we start walking?" asks Enjolras, even as he grimaces in pain. Valjean frowns; it's one of those rare days where Enjolras's motivation far surpasses his physical capabilities.

"Not for another two weeks at least," he replies. Enjolras's face falls in disappointment. "Don't push yourself so hard, Enjolras. Your body's been through a lot and needs the proper time to recover. We'll discuss walking once you're able to get out of bed on your own."

"It would be going a lot faster if I hadn't been so stupid and stubborn the first two months."

"That's not true."

"It _is_. Look at Marius, he can go wherever he likes and he hardly even needs the cane anymore." There is bitterness in Enjolras's voice.

"Marius's injury was not as severe as yours are. His fever also broke sooner than yours did so he was not incapacitated for as long," says Valjean. _And he hasn't suffered the depression you have_ are the words that Valjean does not say. Enjolras does not concede, but he also doesn't continue to argue. Instead, he changes the subject.

"Do you think Marius will propose to Cosette soon?" he asks. The question startles Valjean.

"What?" He must have misheard Enjolras. The boy doesn't strike him as the type to be interested in other's love affairs.

"He clearly loves her. I could tell that ever since he came into the café the night before the barricade. He told me that if I'd seen her I would understand how it feels to…what were his exact words? 'To be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight', I believe." Enjolras pauses to laugh at the memory. It's a happy sound that Valjean doesn't often hear from him. "I would have thought he'd be asking for her hand now that he's nearly recovered."

Valjean hasn't really thought about it before. He knows Marius and Cosette are in love and so he supposes they will marry someday, but that is something Valjean chooses not to think about. Because as soon as Cosette is married she will no longer need him. He will have to quietly disappear to allow her to live her own life without his past holding her back anymore, and that is not something he wants to thinks about yet.

"He hasn't mentioned anything to me yet, but I'm sure he will soon," says Valjean. Enjolras's expression changes suddenly and, despite looking at Valjean, his blue eyes appear to be seeing something miles or years away.

"He should do it soon or he might find that he's too late," says Enjolras gravely. "I think I'd like to get back into bed now."

Valjean has no idea what that was all about, but he immediately goes to help Enjolras up. He puts his arms around him with his hands gripping Enjolras's arms tightly and together they shuffle the two feet to the bed. Valjean settles Enjolras into a seated position on the bed and then gives him a moment – he's practically doubled over in pain from the movement. His golden head is bowed and his hands are clutching his chest; his face is scrunched up in pain with gritted teeth.

"Okay…go ahead…" he pants. He doesn't look ready, but Valjean lifts up his legs and swings them around so that he's now laying on the bed. Enjolras lets out a yell as Valjean does this, and whimpers some more when the old man helps him adjust to a more comfortable position. Enjolras's face has gone white and his eyes are closed.

"Are you going to be sick?" asks Valjean. He hasn't eaten since breakfast, but Valjean bets there is enough to come up and Enjolras looks like it might any moment. But he shakes his head, eyes still closed.

"No…just need a minute…the pain…" he mumbles. Valjean gently brushes loose curls off of Enjolras's face and tucks them behind his ears. Enjolras jumps a little at the touch at first – Valjean suspects he isn't used to such fatherly tactility – but he quickly relaxes as much as he can while in so much pain.

"Do you need a dose of laudanum?" asks Valjean. Dr. Bonhomme has suggested starting to wean Enjolras off the laudanum, but they still give to him when he can't stand the pain anymore.

"No," gasps Enjolras. Valjean is unsure about that, but he obliges and allows Enjolras to breathe through the pain. Finally, he lifts his head and opens his eyes, his entire body relaxing after being tensed up again pain.

"It's better now," says Enjolras at the look of concern on Valjean's face. "Would it be alright if I sat by myself for a bit to read?"

Valjean agrees; he hands Enjolras the book on his nightstand and leaves. He heads straight for Marius's room. Although he doesn't want to speed up the marriage and his inevitable departure from Cosette's life, he does want to find out what Marius's intentions are. Marius's door is open, so Valjean enters without knocking. Marius is sitting in the chair by the window, flipping through a book. Valjean clears his throat to announce his arrival; Marius looks up, startled.

"Oh, Monsieur Fauchelevent. How are you?" he greets. Valjean smiles fondly at him.

"As well as can be, I suppose."

"How is Enjolras?"

"In a lot of pain today, but his spirits seem fairly high." Valjean omits the part where Enjolras turned melancholy after discussing Marius and Cosette. He still hasn't quite figured out what that was all about.

"Good, I'm glad," says Marius, and he genuinely seems it. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yes, actually. You see, Marius, I…I was wondering what your intentions were when it comes to…my daughter," says Valjean awkwardly. Talking about Cosette's love life is quite embarrassing for him. Judging by the way Marius's face quickly turned bright red, it's an embarrassing topic for him as well.

"Well, sir, I love her a great deal. And I should like to marry her one day with your permission," replies Marius. The air between them is awkward and uncomfortable.

"And do you have any idea of when you plan on proposing?"

"Soon, I hope. I'm just waiting for the right time. Everything has been quite chaotic around here lately with Enjolras and all."

"Understandable. But I think Enjolras would be happy to see you two together," says Valjean. Marius nods slowly. He takes a deep breath and pulls a ring out of his pocket. Valjean's heart begins to race. When he said soon, he really meant _soon_ if he already has a ring.

"It's my grandmother's," says Marius quietly. "Grandfather gave it to me about two weeks ago. I've been carrying it around ever since in case the right moment arrives. Do I have your blessing, monsieur?"

"Of course," replies Valjean with a soft smile on his face. Inside, his heart is breaking. Marius could propose any day now. Any day now, Valjean will be thrown out of Cosette's life forever. _It's for the best_ , he tries to tell himself. _She won't need you anymore. She doesn't need your history holding her back from having the life she deserves._

It is his fault that Cosette was such a lonely child. His fault that she never had any friends, never got to leave the house. He was so paranoid that Javert would find him and arrest him, taking him away from her, that he led the life of a recluse and forced Cosette to do the same. He did it all out of love for her so that she would not be put in an orphanage or taken back to the Thenardiers, as would surely happen if Javert caught him, but looking back he isn't so sure he's made the best decisions for her. They could have gone to England or America where they could've led normal lives without fear of Javert. Valjean had thought about it before, but he'd never acted upon it and now he's wishing he had. It's selfish because Cosette found the love of her life here in France, but Valjean would be allowed to stay in her life if they'd just gone elsewhere all those years ago.

Valjean leaves Marius's room with a heavy heart to go shut himself in his room for a bit. Hiding is what he does best.

* * *

Two days later, Marius takes Cosette out for a stroll around Luxembourg Gardens, the place where he first laid eyes on her beautiful face. Ever since Fauchelevent brought up a proposal and gave his blessing, Marius can't help but think now is the time. He's walking without the cane, his collarbone is still bandaged but no longer in the sling, and he has the strength to get down on one knee. Most importantly, he loves Cosette more than he ever thought it possible to love anyone.

He's brought her to the Gardens because it seems like the right place to propose. After all, he knew he would marry her someday the moment he saw her here. They've been strolling around for nearly half an hour and Marius knows that he's got to do it soon. Otherwise, Cosette will be ready to go home and Marius will have lost his chance.

He sits her down on a bench next to a cluster of peonies, Cosette's favorite flower. The sun shines down on them, and Marius notices that the light reflecting off her blonde hair makes her look like an angel. _She is my angel_ , he thinks lovingly. Then he clears his throat and takes Cosette's hands in his. He had a whole speech planned out, but the words leave his mind as soon as he looks into her beautiful blue eyes.

"Cosette, we haven't known each other for very long, but I love you," begins Marius. For once, unplanned words flow out of him without a hint of awkward. "I love you and I can't even tell you what everything you have done for me and for Enjolras means to me. I can't picture my world without you in it and I don't want to. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together. Cosette Fauchelevent, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?"

Marius pulls the ring of out his jacket pocket and holds it up to her. Tears fill Cosette's eyes. She clamps a hand over her mouth and nods, blinking furiously as the happy tears begin to spill down her cheeks.

"Yes!" she manages to choke out as she cries. With a huge grin on his face, Marius slips the ring onto her finger. Cosette smiles and looks down at it fondly before throwing her arms around Marius. He hugs her back; when they let go of each other, Marius hesitates but nonetheless kisses Cosette very gently on the lips for the first time. It's a perfect moment and Marius couldn't be happier.

"Well," he says, still grinning like an idiot, "shall we go back and tell the others?"

* * *

Cosette has never been happier in her entire life. Nothing, _nothing_ compares to this, not even the day Papa took her away from the Thenardiers.

She is engaged to Marius. She is marrying the love of her life.

Cosette can't stop smiling the whole fiacre ride home.

This is what she has wanted her entire life: a family. She has Papa, of course, but she's always yearned for something more. Someone to love her in a way her father cannot, children to dote on and spoil, a full household so that she may never feel lonely again. When she learned of Marius's involvement in the barricade, she was terrified for him because she knew from the moment they met he was the only one for her. As she watched him suffer from injury and illness, her fear only increased. He _couldn't_ die, not when they had just found each other.

And now here she is, sitting next to him and wearing the beautiful ring he gave her. It's a silver band with a blue sapphire in the middle and little diamonds framing the sapphire. Cosette can't stop looking down at it on her finger; it is without the doubt the loveliest ring she has ever seen.

When they arrive home, Marius helps Cosette out of the fiacre. Now that they are engaged and it is no longer inappropriate, they stroll hand in hand into the house. It's quiet inside. Cosette wonders where everyone is.

"Hello?" she calls out. No response. She and Marius exchange quizzical looks.

"Where do you suppose everyone is?" asks Cosette. Marius shrugs.

"I haven't a clue. Let's go check Enjolras's room. He's probably there and maybe he knows where everyone else is," he suggests. It's a good idea – Enjolras currently can't move more than two feet and that's with help, so the odds of him being in his room are quite high.

Sure enough, Enjolras is propped up against his pillows with a book in hand. He looks up at the sound of footsteps and smiles a little at the sight of Marius and Cosette. Cosette notices that he looks drained. His face is pale and there are dark circles under his eyes.

"Hello," he greets quietly, setting his book in his lap. His hands are shaking. Cosette can tell Marius is bursting to share their news, but she gently lays a hand on his shoulder to silently ask him to wait just a moment.

"Are you alright?" she asks Enjolras. He nods unconvincingly. Cosette raises her eyebrows.

"I'm _fine_ ," insists Enjolras. "I didn't sleep well last night and then I spent about half an hour out of bed, so I'm just a bit tired."

"I asked Papa not to push you so hard –"

"Cosette, it's fine. Really. I'm starting to learn my limits, I know when I've had enough for the day. Now, what did the two of you need?"

At this, Cosette and Marius look at each other and smile. Cosette holds out her left hand to Enjolras, showing off her new sparkling ring.

"Marius proposed!" she exclaims happily. Enjolras smiles warmly at her, although Cosette can't tell if it's forced or not.

"Congratulations to both of you," he says. Cosette beams at him and turns to reach for Marius's arm so that she can loop hers through his. It feels so nice to be so tactile with Marius now. His mere touch makes her feel happier and more content than she has in a long time.

"Thank you," says Marius sincerely. "Do you happen to know where Grandfather and Monsieur Fauchelevent have gone off to so we might share our news with them?"

"They've gone down to the kitchens to oversee tonight's dinner," replies Enjolras. Cosette laughs.

"Papa must have had a feeling you were going to propose, Marius, and that a special dinner would be in order. He _never_ sees to dinner," she says. They thank Enjolras for his help and head down to the large kitchen in the basement of the Gillenormand mansion.

When they enter, M. Gillenormand is standing over the oven, keeping an eye on the cook, and Papa is at the table, chopping carrots. The sight makes Cosette giggle – only on rare occasion when their maid, Toussaint, was ill has Cosette seen her father go anywhere near the preparation of food. Both gentlemen look up at the sound of Cosette's light-hearted laughter.

"Oh, good, you're home!" exclaims M. Gillenormand. He comes over to put a hand on Marius's shoulder; Papa sets down his knife and joins them with a smile on his face.

"Monsieur, how did you know?" asks Marius with a groan. He and Cosette can both tell that the men know exactly what went on at Luxembourg Gardens.

"You asked for my blessing and two days later you take Cosette to your first meeting place?" There is a foreign twinkle in Papa's eyes. "It was not hard to figure out. So?"

With a large smile that shows all of her perfect white teeth, Cosette holds out her left hand just as she did for Enjolras. Papa takes her hand in his and looks down at the ring with a bigger smile than Cosette has ever seen on his face. He is truly happy for her, she can tell.

M. Gillenormand takes a look at the ring next. He hugs her and welcomes her warmly to the family, telling her that it is so nice to see his wife's ring on the hand of such a lovely girl. His relationship with Marius is slowly getting stronger, which warms Cosette's heart to see.

"We've planned a celebration dinner for the two of you," says M. Gillenormand. "It has all of both of your favorites. Should be done in an hour or two."

"Have you spoken to Enjolras?" asks Papa quietly as Marius thanks his grandfather. Cosette nods.

"Yes, and he seemed happy for us. Do you think he might be able to join us for dinner?" she replies. It's a silly question; she knows he won't be able to make it down the stairs to the dining room, but she hopes he can nonetheless. But, as expected, Papa shakes his head.

"No, I'm afraid not. The only way to get him downstairs would be to carry him and I think that would just hurt his pride. And he wouldn't eat very much breakfast this morning, so I doubt he's up to a three course meal."

"I _knew_ he looked ill, but he insisted he was fine." It hurts Cosette that Enjolras won't tell her the truth, but even that currently cannot put a damper on her happiness.

"Perhaps he _was_ fine," suggests Papa. "He's going to have some bad days for the rest of his life, but that doesn't mean he isn't mostly alright. At least he made it out of bed today, and he did very well yesterday. It's possible all that merely left him feeling poorly."

Papa's words are always so wise. It makes Cosette feel a little better about Enjolras, but she makes a note to ask Marius if it would be acceptable to postpone the wedding until Enjolras is well enough to attend. She's fond of him, she wants him to be there, and she's sure Marius does too.


	11. Chapter Eleven

"We're looking at spring next year for the wedding, so I want the colors to be light. I'm torn between lavender, baby blue, and pale pink – Marius has no opinion at all, he'd have the whole thing be gray if I left the decision to him. What do you think?"

Cosette is sitting at Enjolras's bedside with sheets of paper and catalogues spread out over her lap and at the foot of the bed. Ever since the engagement was publicly announced and the wedding planning began, Cosette spends an hour or two a day in Enjolras's room to give her thoughts and ask for his opinions. It touches Enjolras that she cares so much about what he thinks. Spending so much time with her, he's come to see Cosette as the sibling he never had. She's quiet at first, but when she gets to talking she can become quite passionate, no matter the topic, a fire lighting in her usually calm blue eyes. He imagines that is what his sister would be like if he'd had one.

Of course, there is a depressing side to wedding planning. For one, Enjolras feels terrible that Marius and Cosette are pushing the wedding so far back just for him. He knows how much it must mean to Marius to be able to have at least one of his friends at his wedding, but he also knows that the couple would get married within the month if it weren't for him. And despite the prospective date being nearly a year away, Enjolras doesn't know if he'll be ready to go. It's mid-September; the barricade fell over three months ago and Enjolras finds that he is just now able to get out of bed on his own with the help of a cane. His infection free injuries haven't been bleeding other than some residual and Dr. Bonhomme finally gave up his guest room to go back to his practice, returning weekly to check up on Enjolras, but the wounds are still painful and he isn't sure he'll be able to walk well enough by spring for a wedding.

And then there are the ghosts surrounding the wedding. This part does not just affect Enjolras, but Marius and Cosette as well. There are ten people who will be sorely missed at the festivities: Fantine, Eponine, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Grantaire, Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel, Feuilly, and Gavroche. Enjolras knows Cosette must be missing her mother now more than ever. Fauchelevent tries his best to help with the planning, but it isn't the same as having a mother's guidance. Marius will be missing Eponine, his friend from childhood, as well as their revolutionary brothers. He won't mention anything about it, but Enjolras knows that Courfeyrac would be the best man, Gavroche the ring bearer, and Eponine the maid of honor if Marius could talk Cosette into it. Enjolras himself is currently missing Grantaire more than anyone. He can't say what would have happened between them if Grantaire was still alive – would he have been able to realize his feelings on his own or would they have continued on the same path without that moment of clarity when Grantaire declared his allegiance to the Republic? Was it even that moment that Enjolras realized Grantaire was in love with him or was it when the drunk asked for permission to die alongside him? And would Enjolras have even acted on his feelings if Grantaire was still with him?

There are too many questions that cannot be answered, so Enjolras turns his attention back to Cosette and to a question he can answer.

"I think the pale pink suits you best," he finally decides. "It seems to be your favorite color, is it not?"

"Yes, but how will Marius feel about it?" counteracts Cosette nervously. Wedding planning already seems to have stressed her out. Enjolras smiles softly and reaches out to touch Cosette's thin arm comfortingly.

"If it's what you want, he'll be fine with it," he says reassuringly. And it's true – Marius is so in love with Cosette that he'll go along with anything she says. So Cosette decides on pale pink and moves on to talking about wedding dresses. In this department, Enjolras is completely lost, but he listens to her anyway.

"There's a shop a few blocks away, but I don't want to go until I'm sure of what I want," says Cosette, "and there are so many things I just can't decide on. Satin or silk or lace? High neck? Veil or no veil?"

Enjolras doesn't know what to say, so he simply tells her "You'll look beautiful in whatever you pick." At that, Cosette laughs and reaches to take one of his hands.

"You are a darling for sitting here and listening to me go on about things you must know nothing about," she says fondly. While he does enjoy her company, Enjolras doesn't point out that he doesn't have much of a choice since he is unable to leave his room.

"Well, I do have a bit of experience planning things," he jokes instead, thinking of all the protests he's planned with Les Amis. But his stomach sinks when the barricade comes to mind. His only plan that has ever failed on such a large scale.

Enjolras notices that Cosette's expression has dimmed as well and that she's withdrawn her hand from his.

"What's wrong?" he asks. She doesn't look at him, which is unusual for her; instead, she fiddles with the engagement ring on her finger.

"It's just…I wish my mother was here," she says quietly. Enjolras figured this, but it is almost heartbreaking to hear her say it aloud. Despite her delicate outward appearance, Enjolras has learned in the past few months that Cosette normally displays an exterior of strength. Rarely does she show weakness and not because she is afraid to but because she would rather give strength and hope to those around her.

"There are many people we wish could be here," replies Enjolras. Cosette nods.

"I know. And it's awful for me to be so melancholy about one person when Marius is missing so many, but –"

"Don't," Enjolras interrupts. "Don't diminish your feelings because you think Marius deserves more sympathy. Marius is missing many friends, yes, but you are missing your mother and that is quite an important thing for a woman to miss at her wedding. Your pain is equal to Marius, not less."

At this, Cosette throws herself at Enjolras with tears in her eyes. She wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace, for once forgetting to be mindful of his injuries. Enjolras suppresses any cries of pain; it would only make her feel worse if she knew she was hurting him. After a minute, she lets go and settles back into her chair, wiping away the tears from her face.

"My apologies for the abruptness," she says, "but that was exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you, Enjolras."

Enjolras doesn't really feel like he's done anything to help her, but he's glad she thinks he has. He watches as Cosette collects all the papers that went flying when she got up.

"Now, I don't mean to pry, but…it's been months, Enjolras. Are you…are you going to write to your parents soon?" asks Cosette shyly. Enjolras tenses at this change of subject. Fauchelevent had asked him once a few weeks ago if he wanted to write his parents to tell them of his survival, but he'd said no and no one has brought it up since.

"No," he says firmly once again. He knows it's horrible of him to not want to let his own parents know that he is alive, but he doesn't care. They have not meant a thing to him since he left his house for good when he was eighteen. Enjolras remembers their last encounter as clearly as if it were yesterday.

_"_ _Pere, how can you not see how wrong the political system in France is?" says Enjolras. He and his father are standing in the library, where M. Enjolras caught his son reading more of the democratic pamphlets he'd forbidden in his house._

_"_ _I don't want to hear any more of your activist nonsense, Rene!" his father yells, snatching the pamphlet out of Enjolras's hand. Fury surges through Enjolras's body and his face twists in anger, making him look quite terrifying._

_"_ _It is_ not _activist nonsense! There are too many people on the streets, starving and dying of illness, too many orphaned children wandering the streets without shoes, while the wealthy live in excessive comfort and luxury. And the king doesn't care about those who need his help most! I want to make France a free country, to help those who can't help themselves." Passion rises in Enjolras's voice as he speaks; this is his cause and he is proud to be an advocate for it. He doesn't care what his father thinks._

 _"_ _That is not your concern!" replies M. Enjolras angrily. "You are going to University to study law, not to spark social change! This is_ not _how your mother and I raised you. I don't know what happened to the Rene I knew, but the boy who stands before me is not my son. He is a disappointment, a disgrace to the Enjolras name."_

_The words sting, but Enjolras doesn't let it show._

_"_ _I'm the same Rene I have always been. Don't pretend like you couldn't tell this was coming from childhood from the first time I gave my monthly allowance to the homeless people I met in the streets. You just never wanted to see who I really was. But Pere, please, accept me for who I am," begs Enjolras._

_"_ _I refuse to accept your ridiculous notions and your ideas that will get you killed," spits his father. Enjolras takes a deep breath._

_"_ _Then I am no longer your son," he says coldly. "I will not call such an ignorant man my father."_

_Before he knows it, a hand is slapping his face with enough force to cause him to stagger backwards. Enjolras holds a hand to the red, stinging handprint on his cheek._

_He notices that his mother is now standing in the doorway. She looks shocked._

_"_ _Get out of my house," hisses his father._

_"_ _Gladly," replies Enjolras angrily. He strides past his mother without a word to her to go pack his things._

_"_ _Rene, don't," pleads Madame Enjolras to his retreating back. "Simon, please don't do this, don't let him go!"_

He left that day and never went back, nor did he ever hear from either of his parents again. Enjolras hadn't expected anything from his father, but he's always hoped he'll get a letter from his mother one day. After all, she had never been disappointed in him for his ideas. But he supposes she's too afraid of his father to contact him, and that is what he is angry at her for. For not even trying to check up on her only son.

Cosette's voice brings him back to the present.

"But they must be worried about you, Enjolras," she presses.

"They're not." His voice is icy and bitter, so Cosette finally drops the subject. She squirms uncomfortably in her chair before gathering all her things and rising from her seat.

"Well, I've been here for an hour. I'd better go see what Marius and Papa are up to," says Cosette. Enjolras frowns; he's upset her and that was not his intention.

"I'm sorry," he says honestly before she can leave. "I was not angry with you. My parents are just a bit of a…sore spot."

Cosette smiles gently at him.

"I know. I'm not upset. But I really should go – you need your rest," she replies kindly. Enjolras is still not convinced that he hasn't hurt her feelings, but she merely ruffles his curls fondly and leaves his room.

* * *

Cosette enters the parlor where Marius sits reading so quietly that he doesn't even notice her at first. But when he looks up to find his fiancée lingering a few feet in front of the doorway, clutching the papers of wedding plans that she's been toting around for days, he can see the hurt and confusion in her eyes. He shuts his book and stands up.

"Cosette, dear, what is it?" he asks gently, taking her hands and leading her to the sofa to sit.

"What do you know about Enjolras's parents?" she asks. Marius's brow furrows at her question.

"What?" he asks. Cosette repeats her question. "I…well, not much. He doesn't ever talk about them. Why?"

"I suggested that he write to them to let them know he is alright, and he got very angry with me," she explains. Marius now understands why she looks so upset; Cosette is not used to having people be mad at her. Marius certainly never has been and he knows for a fact that Fauchelevent has hardly ever done more than raise his voice with her.

"All I know is what Courfeyrac told me, that his parents are quite wealthy but disowned him when he was eighteen for his revolutionary ideas," says Marius. Cosette nods, understanding dawning in her mind.

"I suppose that's why he won't write – he's still angry with them. I just wish he'd give it more thought. His parents deserve to know he's alive."

"Don't let it worry you, darling. Hardly any of us in Les Amis had good relationships with our parents. I know it's difficult for you to imagine that a person might not want anything to do with their parents since you are so close to your father and would give anything to get to know your mother, but that's just not how it is for everyone," says Marius gently. He caresses her hand for a moment and kisses her cheek, hoping that these small touches will bring her some comfort.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The Gillenormand house is silent and heavy with tension.

For the first time in four months, Enjolras is going to try to walk this afternoon at two.

The whole household is a little on edge. They all know that this could either go very well or very bad. And if it goes bad, they all worry that Enjolras will fall back into depression. But he still _has_ to try.

It's a precarious situation.

Valjean is sitting in his room, staring at the clock and waiting for it to strike two in half an hour. He can't pretend he's not worried. According to the doctor, who should be arriving any minute to help with this, Enjolras's injuries have healed enough to the point where he should be able to walk without causing them to bleed. But there will be pain. A lot of pain. Enjolras knows this and wants to go through with it anyway. Still, Valjean worries that it will be more than he can handle and that failure will force him back into the dark hole he just got out of.

The doorbell rings at a quarter to two; it must be Dr. Bonhomme. Valjean rises from his desk, but he hears Cosette answer the door just as he leaves his room. She welcomes him in warmly. Valjean meets them at the top of the stairs.

"Good afternoon," he greets. He shakes Dr. Bonhomme's hand.

"Is Enjolras ready?" asks the doctor. Valjean nods. "Good. Now, I don't think it's a good idea for everyone to be in there. If it doesn't go well, the fewer people to witness it the better for Enjolras."

Valjean agrees wholeheartedly, so it's decided that only he and the doctor will go in. Cosette protests at first, insisting that she has grown close to Enjolras recently and will be an asset, but is finally convinced to go wait in the parlor with Marius and M. Gillenormand.

Enjolras is already sitting up when they enter his bedroom. He's dressed in real clothes, too, thanks to some help from Marius earlier, and he looks quite eager. Valjean hates to think of how that eagerness might be crushed in a few short minutes.

"There you are. I've been waiting," says Enjolras sharply. Dr. Bonhomme smiles at him.

"I'm glad to see you're so ready," he replies kindly. Valjean hands Enjolras his cane, and slowly but surely he is able to slide his legs off the bed and push himself to a standing position with the help of a tight grip on the cane. He's already wincing a little – getting out of bed always causes some discomfort in his chest and leg. The pain is only going to get worse, but Enjolras looks more determined than Valjean has ever seen him.

He puts his good leg forward first. Dr. Bonhomme and Valjean stand close to either side of his, ready to catch him if he falls. Enjolras takes a tentative step forward on his bad leg. His face scrunches up in pain, he lets out a quiet gasp, and Valjean worries for a second that this is going to be the end. He watches as Enjolras leans heavily on the cane with his eyes closed, waiting with bated breath to see what happens next.

Enjolras takes another step forward.

His knuckles are white from gripping the cane so tightly. Valjean comes to his side and holds out his arm so that Enjolras has support on both sides. He is unsure if this will be an appreciated gesture, but Enjolras takes the arm willingly and gives Valjean as much of a smile as he can manage. They move forward again together.

By the fourth step, there are tears falling down Enjolras's face. It hurts Valjean to see it, this boy that he has come to see as part of his family in such agony, but at least they are not tears of anger, sadness, or frustration. They are tears of pain, tears that must be endured if Enjolras is going to recover.

"You can stop whenever you can't take it anymore," says Valjean. He wants Enjolras to know that he doesn't have to push it on the first try.

"I know," gasps Enjolras in response. He is on the sixth step and goes to take the seventh when it happens.

His injured leg gives out and he goes falling to the floor. He doesn't fall all the way because Valjean has a grip on his left arm and Dr. Bonhomme moves quickly to grab his other side, but it's enough of a sudden jerk that Enjolras lets out a shout of pain. Just one, although Valjean can see how he is biting back more as they help to put him upright again.

"That's enough for today," says the doctor firmly. Valjean agrees, and even Enjolras doesn't argue. The two men have to practically drag him back to bed because the fall left him too weak to support himself, but they soon have him settled back down against his pillows. His fair complexion is a light shade of green and his blue eyes are closed again, as they usually are when he is fighting intense pain. His golden curls have fallen out of the ribbon tying them back and hang loosely in front of his face. His breaths are heavy and slow.

"Enjolras…?" asks Valjean hesitantly. But Enjolras just shakes his head slightly. Valjean knows what is about to happen, so he quickly reaches for the chamber pot and holds it under Enjolras's chin, pulling the curls off his face with his free hand. A second later, Enjolras is vomiting into the pot. It's happened enough times that Valjean just _knows_ now by the look on Enjolras's face.

"I'm sorry," pants Enjolras when he is done. He always apologizes after getting sick, although everyone always assures him that it is nothing to be ashamed of, that enduring so much pain would make anyone sick. Still, Valjean has come to learn that showing weakness is not something Enjolras does lightly. Valjean takes out his handkerchief to wipe Enjolras's mouth and offers him a glass of water. He takes it with trembling hands and takes a small sip before setting it aside.

"That was a very good start, son," says Dr. Bonhomme encouragingly. He opens up his medical bag and takes out some bandages to make sure the fall didn't affect any of Enjolras's wounds.

"When can I try again?" asks Enjolras, still trying to catch his breath. Dr. Bonhomme laughs, but Valjean's heart lifts that the fall has not discouraged Enjolras.

"Well, let's make sure you haven't done any damage to your injuries, and then we'll talk about that," replies the doctor. Cutting off the old bandages reveals the same sight as last week: healing gunshot wounds and little spots of red residual blood. The doctor remarks how well it's healing and wraps new bandages around Enjolras's chest and thigh.

"So can we do it again tomorrow?"

It amazes Valjean how eager Enjolras is. He's been more cooperative in the last few weeks, yes, but this seems like the old Enjolras and Valjean honestly wasn't expecting him to surface so soon. He has a strange feeling there is more to this than Enjolras wanting to walk again, so he makes a note to ask him about it soon when it is just the two of them.

"I think it would be best for you to rest tomorrow. How about in two days?" Enjolras looks slightly disappointed, but he agrees. Dr. Bonhomme praises Enjolras once, then leaves to go speak to the crows waiting in the parlor. Valjean says he'll be down in a minute and lingers in the bedroom.

"Do you need something, monsieur?" asks Enjolras. Valjean twists his hands nervously. It's not an easy topic to bring up.

"I was wondering…why so determined now?" asks Valjean. Enjolras looks surprised. Valjean groans internally; he should have phrased that better. "I'm sorry. I only meant –"

"No, it's fine. I understand. I suppose it's because…" Enjolras takes a long pause and bows his head before he finally says: "There were funerals."

Whatever Valjean was expecting, it wasn't that.

"Excuse me?" he asks, unsure of what he's heard. Enjolras looks up and looks him straight in the eye.

"For my friends. There were funerals, weren't there?"

"Yes, I imagine there were." The truth is that Valjean doesn't know. He'd gone down to the sight of the barricade the day after Enjolras was brought to them to make sure there were no other survivors. He'd seen the bodies of Enjolras's friends and comrades lain out on the floor of the Café Musain. Their eyes were all wide, blank, and staring. The poor women living in that area knelt in the streets, mopping up the rivers of drying blood. It was a horrible experience, one that Valjean won't ever forget, and there were definitely no survivors.

He was about to leave when he heard police officers discussing what was to be done with the bodies. From what he could gather, the families of Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Joly, Jehan, and Bahorel were coming to collect their sons in the next few days. Bossuet's family had not sent a reply to the message from the police notifying them of his death, so he'd been claimed by a woman named Musichetta. She had also claimed Grantaire, whose parents had responded that their son was a drunken disgrace and they did not want him. Feuilly had no family, but the de Courfeyracs had written saying that they would take his body as well as their own son's. Apparently Courfeyrac was still on speaking terms with his parents and had told them how much he loved all his friends. But Valjean noticed that no one was claiming the girl he recognized as the Thenardiers' daughter or the little street gamin Valjean had grown fond of during the barricade, Gavroche.

So what did he do?

He paid fifteen francs to be able to claim both of the bodies. It just didn't seem right to leave them to be thrown in some mass grave, so they were both given small funerals and buried in the cemetery of a church that would accept two outsiders of unknown religion. Valjean hasn't told anyone he did that, not even Cosette, but those are the only funerals he is completely sure of taking place.

"I didn't get to go to them," says Enjolras. "There were most likely funerals, my friends all being buried in the ground or in mausoleums or wherever, and I didn't get to go to them. I didn't get to pay my respects to the people who died for me and my cause. I…I didn't get to say _goodbye_ to my best friends in the world."

Enjolras's voice cracks on the last sentence and Valjean can tell he's holding back tears. Still, he doesn't see what all of this has to do with the question he asked Enjolras.

"And that has motivated you because…?" he coaxes. He tries not to sound condescending; he merely wants to understand what it going through Enjolras's mind.

"Because I should have _been_ there. I should have been at those funerals. And, yes, I realize I was probably still unconscious when they took place, but all the same. If I hadn't been so stubborn in the beginning, I'd be walking by now, I could have visited their graves. Now their families will have buried them and will be trying to forget. I'd be nothing more than a painful annoyance if I visited now. But there are other places I want to go, places I _need_ to go, and the sooner the better," explains Enjolras. Now Valjean understands. Enjolras cannot heal emotionally until he is well enough to pay some sort of respect to his lost friends. But who knows how long that will take?

"I see your point," says Valjean, "but please do not overexert yourself in an attempt to recover more quickly. You will end up doing more harm than good."

Enjolras nods and winces a little. He must still be in pain. Valjean grabs the bottle of laudanum off the table and pours a teaspoon. Lately, Enjolras has been refusing the medicine in an effort to not be so dependent on it, but today he willingly takes the spoonful.

"Thank you," he mutters quietly when he's swallowed the bitter liquid. Valjean gives him a small smile and leaves so that Enjolras may rest.

* * *

Cosette is proud of how much progress Enjolras makes in just two short weeks. By the time she is allowed to sit in on his sessions, he is already able to walk across the room without the aid of anyone but his cane. It looks painful, yes, and he almost always ends up shedding tears of pain by the time he reaches the door so he needs help getting back to his bed, but it's something. It's better than when he started; Papa told her about what happened the first time Enjolras tried to walk.

Now Cosette sits at the edge of Enjolras's bed and watches as he reaches the door. Papa and Dr. Bonhomme stand on either side of him, ready to move if he should fall, but they do not touch him. A small smile crosses her lips as he turns around to make the trip back to the bed.

"I think I'd like to try to get back on my own," he says when Papa offers his arm. His eyes land on Cosette and he smiles back at her. She believes that he _can_ make it back to the bed without help; his eyes are only just watering and he hasn't even come close to stumbling. And sure enough Enjolras shuffles back to the bed in a matter of minutes. It's clearly more effort than he's used to – now the tears come rolling down his cheeks, paired with a pinched expression on his face and ragged breath – but he _did it_. He looks exhausted as he settles back into bed, but proud of himself. Cosette herself is about to burst with pride. She kisses Enjolras's forehead and brushes stray curls off his face.

"That was excellent, Enjolras," compliments Cosette. He smiles at her again before she moves out of the way to make room for Dr. Bonhomme. He always checks to make sure Enjolras hasn't irritated his injuries after particularly rigorous sessions. Cosette goes to stand by Papa and slips her arm through his.

"He's doing _so_ well," says Cosette fondly. She looks up to see a rare smile gracing her father's face. He is proud, too, of the boy who has become like a son to him.

"Well, that's it for today," announces Dr. Bonhomme as he packs away his supplies. "I'll see everyone tomorrow. Good work, Enjolras."

He pats Enjolras's shoulder, nods at Cosette and Papa, and leaves. Enjolras looks at Papa.

"Monsieur, would you mind if I spoke to Cosette privately for a minute?" he asks. Papa looks surprised, but Cosette isn't. She and Enjolras have gotten very close recently, practically like brother and sister. They often spend hours sitting and talking alone in his room.

"Not at all. I'll be in the library if you need me," replies Valjean. He kisses the top of Cosette's head affectionately and makes his exit. Cosette moves to sit at the edge of Enjolras's bed again so that she can be closer to him.

"What is it?" she asks curiously. Enjolras looks quite hesitant; Cosette notices that his hands are shaking, but she assumes that's just from the effort of walking.

"I've been thinking about what you said a few weeks ago," says Enjolras slowly. Cosette tilts her head a little. She's said many things to him in the past few weeks, but she isn't sure what she could have said that he'd still be thinking about.

"About?"

"Writing to my parents."

Cosette mutters a soft, surprised "oh". Enjolras had gotten so mad when she brought it up that she didn't think he would have dwelled on it for another second.

"I just think that maybe I was being childish by refusing to write to them," continues Enjolras. "There are a lot of things I haven't yet forgiven them for so I'm still quite angry with the pair of them, but that doesn't mean they should spend the rest of their lives not knowing what's happened to their only son."

"And what brought on this realization?" asks Cosette. She hopes her prodding won't upset him more, but she really does want to know what made him change his mind. He'd been so adamant before.

"Your father, actually. We spoke the day I first walked and it made me think…my friends' parents all got messages saying their sons were killed. Mine got nothing. They must've read about the barricade in the paper. I was the leader, I guarantee you my name was mentioned. They saw that, they saw that I was involved in a fight where nearly everyone was killed, but no one contacted them to either tell them that I was alive or that they had a body they needed to claim. I can't imagine how they must be feeling, especially my mother. Are they waiting to hear from me or have they accepted me as dead? It's just doesn't seem fair," explains Enjolras.

"I think that's wonderful," replies Cosette. She takes ones of Enjolras's hands in support and he gives her a little smile, but she notices that he still looks uncomfortable.

"Yes…but the problem is that I'm not sure I can write a letter. My hands – they still tremble a lot. I'm afraid it would be quite messy if I tried," he said. He looks like he wants to ask her for help, but his pride is in the way. Asking for help has been the thing he's struggled with most during his recovery because he clearly isn't used to needing it. But Cosette can take a hint.

"I'd be happy to write it for you," she offers kindly. Relief washes over Enjolras's face.

"Thank you, Cosette," he says sincerely. "Would you mind if we did it now? I want to get it out as soon as possible."

Enjolras looks exhausted and Cosette thinks he should rest instead, but she doesn't argue. Instead, she replies that she doesn't mind at all and goes off in search of paper and pen.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_Mere and Pere,_

_Hello. I'm very sorry I haven't written to you sooner. A lot has been going on. I merely wanted to let the both of you know that I am alive and well. I know it's been quite a while since you've heard from me, but I assume you have heard about the Parisian barricade back in June. I was the leader. There were many deaths. I don't know what you thought happened to me, but I am writing to say that I survived and am mostly fine._

_Rene Enjolras_

Enjolras reads over the short letter for what feels like the millionth time. Truth be told, he's scared to send it. What if they haven't actually been worried about him at all? Perhaps they haven't even heard about the barricade. He doesn't see how they couldn't have, but there is the slight chance that the news didn't reach Marseilles. And if that's the case Enjolras will look incredibly foolish for writing to the parents he hasn't spoken to in eight years.

But he can't just _not_ send it.

With a heavy sigh, Enjolras folds up the letter carefully and resolves to have someone send it out for him that day. It's been three days since Cosette wrote it all out for him; he can't keep putting it off no matter how much he would like to. It brings him some comfort to think that it will take the letter at least a week to reach his parents. Then it will be another week before he has to expect a reply.

If there is a reply. It _is_ a rather vague letter, after all. Perhaps his parents will read it, see that their son is safe, and won't feel the need to write back. Perhaps they won't care that he's written them at all.

A knock at the door disturbs him from his own fretting. Enjolras hates the sound of door knocking now. His door is knocked on every day at least three or four times by the inhabitants of the house. Sometimes they have reason for coming to see him, as is usually the case with Fauchelevent, but sometimes they just come in to make sure he is alright. The latte is usually Cosette's doing. Enjolras longs for the day when he can wander about the house, doing whatever he pleases, and no one has to worry about how he is doing. But for now he has to put up with extremely irritating continuous sound of knocking at his door.

"Come in."

It's Marius. Enjolras isn't surprise; they haven't seen each other in over a week. Enjolras requested that Marius not be present as he learns to walk again – there is something extremely embarrassing about having one of the people who used to look up to him and admire him as a leader see him so vulnerable – and he's always been too tired, too weak to want to see anyone afterwards.

"Hello, Enjolras," greets Marius awkwardly. He lingers by the door, looking more uncomfortable than he already normally does.

"You _can_ have a seat, you know," says Enjolras, motioning to the chair that is a permanent fixture by his bedside. Marius hesitates, but does sit down.

"Cosette and I have set a date for the wedding," he says, clearly trying to sound casual. Enjolras feels his heart drop. He knows what is coming – the thing that both he and Marius have been avoiding talking about since the day Marius proposed.

"Oh?" Enjolras's voice is strange, higher and constricted. He does not want to have this conversation.

"February 16th."

"That's a good choice." The air between them is heavy and awkward.

"Yes…" Marius's voice drifts off, but then he takes a deep breath and Enjolras knows there is no avoiding it. "I wanted to ask you…I know this might be a bit awkward, but I wanted to know if you'd be my best man. At the wedding."

There it is.

"I…well, yes, I suppose so," replies Enjolras weakly because what else is he supposed to say? _No, Marius, I won't be your best man even though you have no one else to fill the position because I let all our friends die._ His only choice was to accept, and he notices how relieved Marius looks when he does. He must've been worried Enjolras _would_ turn it down and, quite frankly, he had reason to worry. Hadn't Enjolras been the one to chastise him when he met Cosette in the first place?

Under different circumstances, he would have turned it down. But, under different circumstances, Marius wouldn't have asked. It would have Courfeyrac. Bossuet if Courfeyrac for some reason couldn't do it. Hell, Marius probably would've asked Grantaire before he asked Enjolras, but as it is Enjolras is all he has.

"Thank you, Enjolras. Thank you so much," says Marius quietly. They make eye contact for a brief second and Enjolras knows that Marius is thinking the same thing he is.

* * *

Relief is an understatement for how Marius feels right now. _Enjolras said yes._ So much has happened since June – both he and Enjolras have been irreversibly changed – that he shouldn't have doubted it, but he did up until the moment the word "yes" escaped Enjolras's lips.

And despite his relief he feels the familiar sadness washing over him. It's a feeling he often keeps to himself because Enjolras is surely still dealing with his own demons and he doesn't want to worry Cosette, but one that he feels regularly, especially now. He finds himself making his way back to his own room where he can shut the door and let his emotions go.

Sitting on his bed, Marius pictures his wedding the way it should be. The boys would all be taking bets on how long Marius would last before dissolving into a puddle of the nerves the morning of the ceremony. It would've annoyed Marius in this other universe, but now he longs for his friends' jokes and tricks. Then the ceremony would come, and Marius and Cosette would surrounded by all the people who loved them. Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Feuilly would stand on his side as his best man and groomsmen. Cosette would have spent more time with Eponine and learned to love her, so she'd be on Cosette's side as the maid of honor. And because she has no other women in her life, Jehan and Grantaire would stand in as bridesmaids – Jehan because he was a poetic romantic and Grantaire because he thought it would be quite a laugh to be a bridesmaid. While technically too old at eleven years old, Gavroche would walk down the aisle as the ring bearer and Marius laughs a little when he thinks of the fight the boy would put up when it came time to put him in a suit. The others – Enjolras, Combeferre, Bahorel, and Joly – would sit in the first row and watch with smiles as their friends got married.

The reception would be the best party anyone in Paris ever went to. There would be dancing, hours of dancing, and Courfeyrac would insist on dancing with everyone there. Grantaire would get a little too drunk, of course, and probably embarrass himself but it would give them all a good laugh. And even Enjolras would dance, though against his will at the urging of either Courfeyrac, Cosette, or Grantaire once he was drunk enough. At the end of the night, Marius and Cosette would leave to honeymoon for a few days in the countryside and they would return to their own house provided by Fauchelevent and Grandfather with a wonderful housewarming surprise from all of their friends.

But it won't be like that at all.

Marius will still get to marry the love of his life and she will look as beautiful as she does in that other life wedding. That part is still good. But there won't be any joking or bets. His best friends won't be at his or Cosette's sides. They won't be sitting in the front row either. The reception will be full of people Marius and Cosette don't know, people Grandfather invited. He'll dance with his bride and perhaps his aunt, but that is all. Enjolras certainly won't be dancing; he couldn't even if Cosette begged him to. It'll be a miracle if he can walk without struggling by the wedding.

A few tears slip down Marius's cheeks when he thinks of how his wedding should be versus how it is going to be. He tries to tell himself that marrying Cosette is all that matters, that he doesn't need the rest, but he knows that is not true.

 _How can something so wonderful be so bittersweet?_ he wonders.

* * *

It is not a good day for anyone because, while Marius sits in his room and yearns for a world where his friends are alive, Valjean is in his own room down the hall, trying not to panic.

_February 16_ _th_ _._

They've set a wedding date. Valjean has been dreading the wedding and losing Cosette since the day Marius proposed, but he was able to push it out of his mind until now. He could pretend it wasn't happening. But now there is a date and Valjean has only a little more than two months before he has to permanently say goodbye to his daughter, to the only thing who ever brought him happiness in his whole life.

He feels like he can't breathe.

But he _has_ to breathe, he has to keep going, because Cosette cannot know anything is wrong. If she does, she will try to stop him, and Valjean cannot allow who he truly is to interfere with her happiness. He's already caused her so much misery by keeping her secluded all those years…

There are things that must be put in order before he is to leave. Valjean puts on the mask he's worn for years and leaves his room to seek out M. Gillenormand. After all, he will be the one to watch over Marius and Cosette once Valjean has gone.

The older man is sitting in the library with a book in hand and a cup of tea on a tray next to him. This is where Valjean expected to find him – it's the same place he's always looks for Marius in. The two of them are more alike than they care to admit. Valjean approaches M. Gillenormand with intentionally heavy footsteps so that he will not startle him.

"Hello, monsieur," greets M. Gillenormand, setting his book aside. Valjean pulls up a chair and sits down.

"How are you?" he asks, trying to be polite. He prefers to just get to the point, but he doesn't want to be rude.

"I'm well. And yourself?"

"I'm fine, but I'm afraid I've received some troubling news today," replies Valjean. It's only a partial lie; hearing of the wedding date was troubling. "My brother-in-law has passed away. My sister has more children than she can count, and she's written to ask if I would come help her for a few weeks."

The second part is a complete lie and there is no way around it. His brother-in-law has been dead for forty years; Valjean hasn't heard from his sister or her seven children since he was arrested for stealing the bread that was meant to feed them. For all he knows, the lot of them are dead, too. Just before he stole the bread and was taken to the galleys at Toulon, the whole family was going hungry. There wasn't enough food or enough money. He remembers the children hadn't eaten in three days; they were so thin he could easily see their prominent ribs and collarbones. He wouldn't be surprised if they'd died of starvation.

But M. Gillenormand does not know any of this and therefore believes him without a second thought to the story.

"Oh, dear Lord, that's awful. You're going, aren't you?" says M. Gillenormand with real concern etched into his face. Valjean does not know what he was like during Marius's childhood, but he thinks he must have changed somewhat since then because this concerned man is not a man who would throw his only grandson out for differing political views. Perhaps the events of the barricade changed him as well and the rest of them were too caught up in themselves to notice.

"Yes, of course, but I've told my sister that I must wait until after the wedding. It would be improper to leave Cosette here without me, but I can't tear her away when the wedding is so close and there is so much planning to do," replies Valjean smoothly. M. Gillenormand nods.

"Naturally. That sounds like a reasonable plan."

"I'm glad you think so. But I wanted to mention it to you that I will not be around for quite some time after the wedding. It breaks my heart to leave Cosette behind, so I would just like your word that you'll look after her and Marius, make sure they settle into their new life nicely," requests Valjean. That part is not a lie at all. He can't leave unless he knows Cosette will be properly looked after.

"I wouldn't even think of doing anything else. I give you my word," promises M. Gillenormand. Valjean finds that now he can breathe a little easier.

"Thank you. And Enjolras as well?" The young leader might not be related to him in any way, but he's been making so much progress lately and Valjean hates to think he won't be there to see it through. He needs to know that they will not let Enjolras slip through the cracks in his absence.

"Enjolras as well," M. Gillenormand assures him.

"Now there's just one more thing."

"And what's that?"

Valjean takes as deep of a breath as he can without drawing attention to his nerves.

"Cosette. She doesn't know I have to leave and I can't bear to tell her before the wedding. It'll dampen her spirits because she'll just start counting down the days until I have to go. I want her to be as happy as she's ever been on her wedding, so I'm not going to tell her until it's over. I…I know it'll only be a few months, but it will still hurt her. Please promise you won't say anything to her," begs Valjean. He wishes it really was only a few months, but he knows he will never come back once he leaves. He tells himself once again that it's better this way.

When he has M. Gillenormand's word that he will not speak to Cosette about it, Valjean thanks him and leaves the library. He goes back to his bedroom where he expects to remain until dinner; he needs time to come to terms with what is happening and put together a calm exterior that will not alarm Cosette.

He wonders for a split second if lying to her is the best idea, if telling her the truth wouldn't be a better solution. But he rationalizes telling her the truth would only be a better solution for _him_ , not for her. It's better if she doesn't know.

At least he thinks it is.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

The whole household has been so busy with wedding planning and Enjolras's physical therapy, but Cosette is over the moon when she realizes that Christmas is a week and a half away. Christmas is her favorite holiday; it has been ever seen Papa adopted her. They made their own traditions that they've continued every year, and she is thrilled to share them with their new family members.

Of course, Cosette has noticed that everyone is acting a little strange recently. Despite continuing to make immense progress, Enjolras has grown to be melancholy and withdrawn again. He is able to walk all the way down the hallway and back now, but he is not nearly as excited about the progress as he was before. Some days he doesn't even want to push himself like he usually does; he asks to stop as soon as his leg begins to hurt. And Cosette can't tell if it's because he hasn't heard back from his parents yet or if it's just the time of year – Christmases without his friends will surely be a painful adjustment.

Marius is not as withdrawn as Enjolras is and he is his usual cheery self when he's around Cosette, but she's noticed that he's been spending more time alone in his room. Sometimes she'll pass the closed door and swear she hears crying. She's asked him about it naturally, but he just brushes it off and changes the subject. Still, Cosette tries to make it known that he does not have to be strong and hide his emotions for her sake. Papa has been hiding in his room a lot lately, too. And when he's not, he's oddly tactile towards Cosette. He's always been one to touch her hand comfortingly or give her an encouraging pat, but now it's as if he is trying to make sure she is still solid. He touches her hands, bops her nose, caresses her hair, kisses her forehead. Like he thinks she is a ghost and he has to be sure she is still there. Cosette doesn't know what to make of it.

And lastly, she's noticed that Marius's grandfather has taken to looking at her with this strange, pitying expression. She can't bring herself to ask him about it because she is sure he will only lie, just as Marius does when asked about his behavior, but it's always there. It makes her wonder if there is something he knows that she doesn't, something that she should be worried about, but she can't think of what it might be.

But, despite all of the odd behavior, Cosette is determined to make this a great Christmas. She's already sent out for a Christmas tree, which is now sitting in the parlor, waiting to be decorated. This afternoon she plans on going to the house in Rue Plumet to retrieve the ornaments she and Papa put up every year. If she is lucky, Cosette will be able to convince Marius and Enjolras to join in the decorating. She wants this to be a happy experience for everyone.

Cosette is layering in a coat, hat, and gloves when Papa appears, also dressed to go out in the cold December air. He's got a scarf in his hand, which he wraps around Cosette's exposed neck. She gives him a smile and a curious expression.

"What are you doing?" she asks kindly. Papa returns her smile.

"I thought I might come with you. I could help carry the decorations," replies Papa. Cosette's smile grows wider. He's spent most of the last two days shut up in his room; it will be wonderful to spend time together again, just the two of them as it used to be.

"I'd like that very much, Papa," she says. He offers her his arms, which she gladly takes, and they set off for Rue Plumet. They walk because it's only thirty minutes away, but the trip seems much longer in the cold. Even with her layers, Cosette is shivering ten minutes into the journey. She isn't going to complain because it was her idea to walk, but Papa notices and takes off his own coat to wrap around her shoulders.

"Oh, Papa, you don't have to do that! You'll freeze," she protests.

"Don't you worry about it, _ma petite_. I don't get cold very easily," replies Papa vaguely. Cosette sighs, but does not argue. She just hopes that he doesn't take ill so close to Christmas.

As soon as they reach their house, which hardly even feels like theirs anymore, Cosette insists that Toussaint lights a fire for Papa to warm up by. While they are busy with that, Cosette goes up to the attic where all the Christmas decorations are kept. It's strange, she thinks as she reaches for the first box, how she has not lived in this house for six months and yet she still knows where everything is.

When she returns downstairs with two of the three boxes, Papa is wrapping up the silver candlesticks he's had ever since she's been with him. He looks up at the sound of approaching footsteps and gives a small smile.

"With everything going on, I forgot I'd left these here. I thought they'd be nice to have for Christmas," he explains. Cosette did not notice before that he'd left them behind, but it is quite peculiar. Papa takes those candlesticks everywhere. He won't say where he got them or why they are so important to him, but she knows they are his dearest possessions. It's just another part of his past she unfortunately knows nothing about.

Papa finishes packing the candlesticks, retrieves the last box from the attic, and then they head back to the Gillenormand mansion. Papa carries all three boxes while Cosette holds on to the candlesticks. She thought the boxes were quite heavy, but of course they are nothing for Papa. Her father is stronger than any man she has ever met.

Marius is waiting for them in the parlor when they return. He greets them with a smile and a kiss on the cheek for Cosette after they've set all their packages down.

"I've come to help decorate. Grandfather wanted to as well, but he's having dinner with an associate in the next town so he had to miss it. He sends his love and apologies, though," says Marius.

"We'll miss him," replies Cosette. She glances up at the ceiling. "And Enjolras…?"

Marius doesn't answer. Cosette feels Papa's hand on her shoulder and she turns around to look at him.

"Cosette, dear, he can't come down the stairs yet," he says. She knows that, but she had hope regardless that maybe Christmastime would change that. She wants Enjolras to be down here with them, hanging ornaments and garland, even if all he can do it sit and watch.

"Well, when is he at least going to _try_ the stairs?" asks Cosette. It sounds rude and impatient; she didn't mean for it to come out that way. She wants him to improve and recover for his own sake.

"Next week maybe, now that he's able to withstand longer distances," replies Papa patiently. "We just have to give him time."

_Give him time._ That's all anyone ever says in regards to Enjolras, but Cosette is starting to worry that that is not going to be enough. She knows that eight bullets to the chest and one in the thigh are quite a lot and that Enjolras is lucky to even be alive let alone walking, but it has been six months and his mental state is still not entirely stable. Sometimes he is happy and determined and almost normal, and sometimes he slips back to where he was right after he regained consciousness.

It's not that Cosette expects him to be completely normal or happy all the time – she doesn't. But it worries her when he gets into a state of depression. She doesn't know how to help; none of them do, except for Papa who can occasionally lift his spirits with a private talk.

But she pushes all of this out of her mind as Papa hands her the first ornament to go on the tree. It is their tradition to let her hang the first one. She takes the silver bulb from him and finds a nice spot for it. There will be time to worry about Enjolras later. For now, Cosette is going to enjoy the holidays and spending this time with her beloved father and the love of her life.

* * *

Enjolras is stuck again and he doesn't know why.

He doesn't _want_ to be sucked back into the black hole. It's been so long since he's felt this down. He thought the bad feelings were gone for good after he had that eye-opening dream, but now they are back. He knows why, too. The depression is back because it's Christmastime. By all means, Enjolras should be happy that he is alive to see another Christmas and that he has people to celebrate with. But instead all he can think of are the past eight Christmases, spent with Les Amis, from the very first one with only Combeferre and Courfeyrac to the one just last year with even Marius amongst their growing numbers.

_They_ are his family. _They_ are the ones he should be spending Christmas with. And it hurts every time he thinks of how happy they always were on Christmas, cozied up in their backroom at the Musain with the best Christmas dinner they could afford and plenty of eggnog to go around thanks to Grantaire.

Cosette keeps speaking of sharing her Christmas traditions with Marius and him. Enjolras knows she means well, but sometimes he just wants to yell that he is grieving the loss of his own traditions, he doesn't care about hers. Of course, he won't actually do that because there is something sinful about upsetting Cosette, but the feelings are there nonetheless.

Right now, Enjolras can hear Cosette, Marius, and Fauchelevent laughing in the parlor. They must be decorating; he remembers Cosette saying she was going to bring back some ornaments from the house in Rue Plumet. There is a pang of guilt that he is not down there with them, but it goes away rather quickly. They'll have him on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, after all. Why should they really need him to decorate?

_I'd probably only get in the way,_ he thinks bitterly with a glance at his cane. Technically the walking is going well, but Enjolras has never been a very patient person. He wants to see results instantly, and he has to try to accept that that just isn't going to happen when he is recovering from being shot nine times. He has to be happy that he can walk the length of the hallway, despite the pain that comes with it if he pushes too hard, instead of being permanently paralyzed and bedridden.

He's trying. Trying to overcome the physical and emotional barriers that are holding him back. But it's not easy.

Still, by the time Christmas comes around a week later, Enjolras has managed to at least feign happiness when it is most important. He does not join the rest of the household for Christmas Eve as he promised he would, though. It was a last minute decision. Today has been a bad day as far as his emotional well-being and when Fauchelevent came in to help him down the stairs, Enjolras simply couldn't. He couldn't talk himself into getting out of bed, braving the stairs that he has only tried once with disastrous results – after two steps he sank to the floor and had to be carried like a child back to his bed – and plastering a smile on his face so that he did not ruin everyone else's evening.

So Enjolras now sits alone in his room, a tray of untouched food in front of him, and listens to the merry sounds of laughter and conversation wafting up from the dining room. He feels guilty again, though, and the feeling does not go away as easily as it did before. He can only imagine how disappointed Cosette must have been when her father came downstairs without him. All he ever does is disappoint people, or at least that is how he feels right now.

Cosette. Marius. All of his friends. The people of Paris. He's managed to disappoint all of them and it's just caught up to him, just made him realize what a failure he truly is. Even Grantaire, who revered every breath Enjolras took, would be disappointed if he could see his Apollo now. Withdrawn. Depressed. Broken.

_No._

Enjolras can't be like this anymore. He can't spend another day wallowing in his grief, disappointing all the people around him. He has to _do_ something, anything to prove he has not lost all purpose in life.

He reaches for his cane. It is a small action, but he is going downstairs to join his new family for Christmas Eve. If he can manage to redeem himself tonight, to not let them down, then maybe there is hope for him after all.

Getting to the stairs is easy. For weeks, Enjolras has practiced that trip and he gets there with hardly any pain. It's a rather short distance from his room to the end of the hall, after all. But getting _down_ the stairs is another question entirely. He looks down the spiraling steps and how they never seem to end. It irritates him that something as simple as walking down the stairs is going to be a challenge, but he grits his teeth, lowers his cane to the first step, and gingerly moves his feet.

God, it hurts. First there is the shooting pain in his bad leg. Enjolras tries to shift his weight to his good leg and the cane, but putting some weight on the bad leg is unavoidable with stairs. The wounds in his chest scream out, too, because steps twist his body at a strange angle and aggravate those numerous injuries. Enjolras curses under his breath, but manages to hold back any outbursts. He takes another step just as the discomfort starts to ebb, and there is another firework explosion of pain in his body. This time, a small moan escapes him, but Enjolras just forces another step without even waiting for the pain to subside.

Surprising even to him, he makes it halfway down the stairs before it gets to be too much. Gripping his cane as tightly as he can, Enjolras lowers himself to a seated position on the steps. Even this is agonizing for his leg, but he has no other choice because he's started to feel like he's going to pass out. He won't if he can help it, but he can't keep going and he knows it. Enjolras wonders if he should call out, alert the others that he is curled up on the stairs and can't move, but he's too embarrassed to have them find him like this. He has never been this incapable, not even the time he broke his ankle in a riot. For two days, he walked around like nothing was wrong until Combeferre and Joly forcibly set and bandaged it for him. He didn't even stop then; he limped everywhere he had to go, despite everyone's pleas that he stay in bed for a few days while it healed.

The memory hurts, combines with the physical pain shooting throughout his body, and Enjolras cannot suppress the dry sob that comes out of his mouth. It's louder than he wanted it to be; he hears the scraping of chairs from the dining room. A minute later, he hears a high-pitched "Oh, Enjolras!" and he opens his eyes, which he hadn't even realized were closed. The exclamation came from Cosette, who is now racing up the steps towards him. Fauchelevent is right behind her; Marius and M. Gillenormand watch from the landing. He feels his face goes red as he realizes how stupid he must look, one hand clutching his cane, the other wrapped around the stair railing, only half dressed in tan pants and a white shirt. What was he _thinking_?

"I'm sorry," mumbles Enjolras as Cosette gently takes his hand. "I just felt bad for missing dinner and wanted to come join you."

"It's alright. Don't apologize," coos Cosette soothingly. She strokes his mess of loose golden curls. Fauchelevent bends down so that his face is level to Enjolras's. Enjolras finds that, even in this state, he appreciates the man's attention to equality.

"Shall we get you back to bed?" suggests Fauchelevent. Enjolras shakes his head.

"No, I didn't get this far to go back to my room. Can you help me the rest of the way down? I'll sleep in the parlor, that'll be far easier than trying to get me back downstairs tomorrow morning," he replies, pleased at how normal his voice sounds even drenched in pain. Fauchelevent looks wary, but he and Cosette each take one of Enjolras's arms and help them up. This time, Fauchelevent bears most of Enjolras's weight, so it is slightly easier to get Enjolras the rest of the way down the stairs. Enjolras avoids looking at Marius when they reach the bottom; Marius hasn't seen him this vulnerable since before he regained consciousness and he is incredibly humiliated by that. Marius, who always followed Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac around like a little puppy dog, is standing on his own two feet with no obstacles to overcome while Enjolras is being practically dragged across the floor to the parlor and feels as if he might crumple at any moment. If it was any other member of Les Amis, Enjolras could stand the humiliation. But it's _Marius_.

When they get him to the parlor, Enjolras collapses on the velvet sofa. It's not the most comfortable place in the world to sleep, but it's better than trying to conquer the stairs again the next morning. Now that he is here, all of his plans to join the family for dinner have flown out of his mind. He wants nothing more than to sleep off the excruciating pain stabbing at his body.

"I need a dose of laudanum," he says quietly. Cosette immediately flies from the room to go retrieve it. Enjolras closes his eyes and takes some deep breaths to try to will away the pain. He's painfully aware that Marius is standing just a few feet away, watching him with wide eyes.

Enjolras hears someone kneel beside him and opens his eyes. It's Fauchelevent.

"I know you might not feel like it now, but taking on the stairs on your own was quite an accomplishment," he whispers so that only Enjolras can hear. "And I know it meant the world to Cosette that you wanted to be with us on Christmas."

More guilt washes over Enjolras. He doesn't _want_ to be with them. He wants to be in the back room of the Musain, drinking eggnog with Grantaire for the one time of year they didn't argue and listening to Courfeyrac and Bahorel sing off-key carols. The only reason he is down here is because he felt guilty, and now he feels guilty for that, too.

But thankfully Cosette returns at that moment with the laudanum. Enjolras accepts the bitter liquid and is more relieved than he should be when he feels his body being forced into sleep.

* * *

Marius wakes early on Christmas morning. It is unintentional, but the winter sun is pouring through the window and directly onto his bed so he figures he is meant to get up now despite not knowing how early it might be. A quick look at the clock in his room tells him it's half past seven. Not too bad. He makes the bed after getting out of it and then dresses for the day: navy blue pants with a matching vest, a white undershirt, brown jacket, his nice dress shoes, and a green and blue checkered cravat.

Once he's dressed, Marius decides to go wake Enjolras. He should be properly dressed on Christmas, and that is a task that could take quite a while especially if Enjolras is still hurting from last night. Marius stops in Enjolras's room on the way downstairs to pick up a nice outfit for him and then goes down to the parlor.

Enjolras is still asleep, sprawled out across the sofa on his back. His blond curls are spread on the decorative pillow his head rests on and Marius sees the look of discontent on his sleeping face. He must be having a nightmare. At least he isn't screaming as he so often does when the nightmares come; that would be an unfortunate start to what Marius hopes will be a decent Christmas.

Marius gently shakes Enjolras's shoulder in an attempt to pull him out of the nightmare without hurting his chest wounds. He feels Enjolras jump a little and then his blue eyes fly open. The smallest sigh of relief escapes him; Marius wonders what he was dreaming about.

"Marius…good morning," slurs Enjolras as he struggles to sit up. He winces a little, his hand automatically going to his chest.

" _Joyeux Noel_ ," replies Marius with a smile. Enjolras doesn't say it back, but he at least manages to return the smile. "I brought you some clothes. I thought we could get you dressed before everyone else comes down."

Something falls in Enjolras's face and Marius thinks he may have made the wrong decision in offering to help him dress, but Enjolras accepts the help regardless. If Enjolras is in pain, he doesn't let it show, and they have him dressed in black pants, a white shirt, black cravat, and red jacket in no time at all.

"I expect it'll be a rather quiet Christmas," says Marius awkwardly when they've finished as they wait for the rest of the household to rise.

"That's fine," replies Enjolras with seemingly little interest. Marius remembers how rowdy the two Christmases he spent with Les Amis were and wonders if it really is fine. He pushes forward anyway, bringing up an idea that he's been sitting on for a while. It seems like a decent time to mention it since they are alone.

"I know this isn't a very cheery thing to bring up, but I was considering going to the Musain next week," he says. He can feel Enjolras tense beside him. "I, uh…I need some closure. I thought you could come with me if you like."

Enjolras doesn't respond right away. He looks uncertain and deep in thought. This is why it's taken Marius so long to ask despite having decided to take the trip about a week ago – he is perfectly aware that Enjolras does not want to go with him. They had completely different experiences at the barricade and Marius will never truly understand what happened that left Enjolras hanging out the Musain window. That is what Enjolras thinks, anyway, and quite frankly it's true. However, Marius and Enjolras both know that Enjolras will not be allowed to leave the house on his own for quite some time and so Marius is his only option if he wants closure, too.

"I would like that," he finally replies. It's a lie and Marius knows it, but does not acknowledge that fact. They fall back into silence, neither one looking at the other.

" _Joyeux Noel_ , boys!" Marius looks up at the sound of Cosette's voice to see her practically skipping into the parlor. She looks lovely in a red satin dress and her dark blond hair tied up in matching red ribbons. But the loveliest feature about her is the radiant smile on her face. It brings a glow to her angelic face and lights up the whole parlor. Not for the first time, Marius wonders what he did to deserve such a beautiful woman.

"Papa and your grandfather are dressing now," she informs them, taking a seat on the sofa beside Marius after giving them both gentle hugs. He pecks her cheek lovingly. This Christmas might be a little bittersweet, but he considers himself blessed to be able to spend it with Cosette.

The rest of the day flows seamlessly. They all eat breakfast together when Fauchelevent and Grandfather come down, the first time Enjolras has joined them for a meal, and then exchange presents in the parlor while a yule log crackles merrily in the fireplace. Marius receives a shiny new pocket watch since he lost his at the barricade and a handsome purple cravat. What is even better is that it seems as if Enjolras is genuinely enjoying himself as they eat, chat, and unwrap. The smile he gives when he opens the set of leather-bound political books they collectively bought him seems real enough. He could just be a very good actor, of course, but Marius likes to think he is truly having a good day.

After the sun sets and the parlor is only lit by moonlight and Fauchelevent's silver candlesticks, everyone rises to prepare for bed. Fauchelevent and Marius help Enjolras up the stairs to his room, followed closely by Cosette. His face is screwed up in pain by the time he is back in his bed, but Enjolras does not shed one tear. He must be holding it together to let Christmas end on a high note. And as Marius goes to leave for his own room while Cosette makes sure Enjolras is set to go to sleep, he hears him whisper " _Joyeux Noel_ , Cosette. Thank you for a nice day."

He sounds like he means it, too.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Enjolras doesn't know what he was expecting when he and Marius arrived at the Café Musain, but he doesn't think it was this.

It looks _normal_.

The last time Enjolras was here, there was a barricade of furniture and flags built in front of the Musain and blood flowing everywhere. Now it looks just as it would if it were a normal Tuesday meeting of Les Amis. Enjolras reminds himself that this should have been expected – it's been close to seven months since the barricade, after all. Everything was probably cleared away in the days right after the fight.

His chest feels tight as he and Marius make their way into the café. Getting in and out of the carriage that brought them here was difficult so Enjolras is even slower than he has been, but that is not the reason for his discomfort. It's _too_ normal. If it weren't for the cane that he's got a death grip on and the pain from the bullet wounds riddling his body, it might feel like Enjolras is simply heading into an average meeting. Like all his friends will be waiting for him in the backroom. Part of him hopes he will walk in to Combeferre opening the meeting in his absence, Courfeyrac joking around with Bossuet and Bahorel, Joly examining himself for illness in the mirror, Jehan running a new piece of poetry by Feuilly, and Grantaire drinking himself into a stupor in the corner. A larger part of him knows that he won't.

The main room of the Musain is bustling with guests. Enjolras glances over at Marius, who looks as uncomfortable as he feels. They stand there awkwardly, a feeling Enjolras is not used to in the Musain, until a familiar face approaches them. It's Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet's shared mistress. Enjolras recalls hearing from Marius that she got a job as a barmaid as the Musain a few months ago after being forced to leave Joly's apartment.

"Marius, Enjolras, what are you doing here?" she asks kindly, pulling both of them into hugs. Enjolras tries not to groan when she hugs him too tightly, but can't help it. Musichetta steps back with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, Enjolras, I didn't think…are you still hurt?"

"A bit," he replies with a sad smile, "but I'm on the mend."

"We're here because we were hoping to get into the backroom again," explains Marius. Something like sadness flickers in Musichetta's eyes, but she puts a smile on her face regardless.

"I'll speak to Madame Houcheloup and see what I can do. How have you two been?" Marius tells her that they are both doing fine, and maybe he is but it's a lie on Enjolras's part. _He_ is barely scraping by, although he's sure Musichetta can tell. She's always been intuitive like that with the members of Les Amis. But when Marius asks how she has been, Enjolras suspects her answer is truthful.

"As well as can be managed," she replies with a sigh. "It's quite strange not having Joly to fall back on and having to rely on earning my own keep. And of course I miss my boys more than I can say, but I'm sure you two feel that as well. Anyway…I'll go see if you can go in the backroom."

Musichetta hurries away, leaving Enjolras and Marius alone in the middle of the café again. But Enjolras keeps his eyes on her and watches as she speaks to the short, plump woman who owns the Musain. Madame Houcheloup looks up at whatever Musichetta said, making direct eye contact with Enjolras. He blushes and looks away quickly. Madame was always very kind to Les Amis, always willing to let them take over the backroom even though she had to know what they were doing was illegal. Enjolras wonders if she too is mourning the loss of the eight boys she'd grown fond of over the years.

Musichetta is back in a minute.

"Madame says you may go up there, but I am to warn you that it hasn't been cleaned up yet," she informs them. Enjolras feels panic rising in his chest.

"What do you mean? It's been seven months, how has it not been cleaned yet?" he asks, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. The expression Musichetta gives him is an odd mixture of nervousness, pity, and disapproval.

"I'm sorry, Enjolras. None of us have been able to muster the strength to go in there. Surely you can understand that."

He can and he feels guilty for sounding so accusatory. Of course it would be difficult for Musichetta to go into the room where Joly died, for Madame Houcheloup and her girls to clean up the destroyed space where the young men they'd come to cherish drank, laughed, and dreamed. Enjolras apologizes; he and Marius head to the staircase that leads up to the backroom.

Stairs. Enjolras forgot that that would be a factor. He's already had to deal with the stairs at the Gillenormands'; he doesn't know if he can handle another set and going up is much more difficult than going down. Still, he has not come all this way for nothing. He needs to go up to that room. And he does, with the help of Marius and a great deal of heaving leaning on his cane. The second they reach the top, Enjolras sinks into the closest chair and takes in his surroundings.

It is only slightly better than he remembers.

_They've barricaded themselves in the upper backroom of the Musain. The guards can't get them here; this will buy them some time. To do what, Enjolras doesn't know, but a little more time to work out a nonexistent plan is better than no time at all._

_Only some of his friends are by his side. Courfeyrac clings to Enjolras's red jacket and Combeferre holds out a protective arm to shield Joly from harm, as if that is all it takes to prevent death. The rest of their friends are dead – some surely and some presumably. But Enjolras can't think about that now. He has to think of a way to get his remaining friends out of the fatal mess he's dragged them into._

_Shots ring out and Enjolras jumps, bracing for pain that does not come. The three men beside him crumble from bullets that came through the floorboards. Enjolras feels for a moment as if there is no longer air in the world. He looks down at three of his closest friends, dead on the floor, and yet he is still alive._

The bodies have been cleared away, but the Musain looks much as it did in the nightmarish flashbacks that are currently racing through Enjolras's mind. Blood stains a good portion of the floor, although it is old and dried now. He sees the holes in the floor from the bullets that killed his friends amongst the debris of broken glass, gunpowder residue, and scattered papers. Tears well up in his eyes, but it is when his watery eyes land on the room's large window that Enjolras truly loses it.

He gets up from the chair, legs and hands shaking, and stumbles over to the window. His hands touch the old stain where his blood ran down the ledge. _His_ blood. There is so much of it and yet here Enjolras stands, alive when he was so willing to die. He lets his eyes shift over just a little to see the dried red on the wall and floor of someone who was not so willing to die.

_"_ _Shoot me." His friends are dead. His cause has failed. He doesn't care anymore. Enjolras throws aside his gun, leaving his chest wide open so that the guards have any easy shot. They ask him if he wants to be blindfolded. He says no. They ask if he killed the artillery sergeant. He says yes. Silence falls and Enjolras waits for the general to give the order to take aim, waits for death._

_"_ _Long live the Republic! I'm one of them." Enjolras knows that voice. He would recognize it anywhere. It's the voice that drunkenly argues with him at every meeting. It's the voice that calls him Apollo. Enjolras makes reluctant eye contact with Grantaire. He's ashamed to look at the cynic, ashamed that he's gotten all their friends killed. More than that he can't understand why Grantaire is here. He'd left earlier to drink himself into a coma. He could have left the barricade and safely gone home. He doesn't believe in any of this, Enjolras knows that. But he clearly believes in something…_

_"_ _Long live the Republic," the cynic repeats. He steps closer to Enjolras. "Finish both of us at one blow."_

_He turns to Enjolras, and Enjolras thinks that he has never seen greener eyes._

_"_ _Do you permit it?"_

_Grantaire wants permission. He wants permission to die alongside Enjolras because he does not think he is worthy to make that decision. All the arguing, all the drinking, coming to Les Amis meetings despite not sharing their views, Apollo, and now dying for a cause he doesn't believe in…Grantaire doesn't just believe in Enjolras. He loves him._

_Maybe Enjolras loves him, too, but there is no time to dwell on that. He gives a smile, the first smile he has ever graced Grantaire with, and reaches for his hand._

A strangled howl escapes Enjolras. He sinks to the ground, ignoring the pain in his leg, and doesn't hold back as loud sobs rack his body. It shouldn't have ended up this way. His friends should not be dead. Grantaire should not have died for something he didn't believe in just because he cared for Enjolras.

It's all too much. Enjolras thought he needed to see the Musain and maybe in a strange way he did, but now he cannot handle seeing the blood of his friends, the blood of the man he _wished_ he had called his friend or even lover. The feeling that he needs to get out of here overwhelms him, but he can't get up off the floor nor can he stop the sobs that are making him feel ill.

"Enjolras?" It's Marius's voice and it is quivering. Scared. Enjolras doesn't blame him; he must look as if he's lost his mind and yet he can't help it. He just sits there in a crumpled heap on the floor and sobs in postponed devastation. Then there are a pair of hesitant hands on his shoulder, helping him up from the floor. Marius hands Enjolras his cane and guides him back towards the stairs.

"We're going to go back downstairs and leave, okay? Please try to stop crying, Musichetta says they're getting complaints, and you don't want everyone staring at you," says Marius as calmly as he can. Enjolras takes a deep, shaking breath; the tears cease as do the grief-stricken wails that accompanied them. He knows people will stare anyway, but he wants to leave and he's sure Marius won't allow that until he's pulled it together. But then again, looking properly at Marius for the first time since arriving at the Musain, he has tears falling down his face as well.

They make their way slowly down the stairs with Enjolras leaning almost entirely on Marius. When they reach the bottom, they head immediately for the door. It's clear Marius wants to get Enjolras home as soon as possible. But before they can leave Enjolras turns around to look for Musichetta. He feels terrible for causing so much trouble and wants to apologize.

Instead of Musichetta, his eyes land on a young man he recognizes as the blacksmith's apprentice. Enjolras can't remember his name, but he was friends with Bahorel and he came to a few meetings just before the barricade. Mostly Enjolras remembers how he promised to fight with them and then didn't show up.

 _The people too must rise._ Except they didn't. This young man definitely didn't. He promised he would join their ranks and then he failed them, left them to die.

The rational part of Enjolras's mind tells him that he is not sane at the moment, that he is twisted with grief, but it is that grief that propels him towards the man. His leg hurts so badly that he is practically dragging himself with the help of the cane and he can feel Marius trying to pull him away, but somehow he makes it to the bar where the man is sitting.

"You goddamn coward!" shrieks Enjolras when he is close enough. The man looks at him with a mixture of surprise and pity. Enjolras wants to slap the look right off his face because _he does not get to pity Enjolras_ , not when his joining the fight could have made all the difference.

"Monsieur, I am not quite sure what you mean, but perhaps you ought to leave before you make a scene," suggests the man. Enjolras feels Marius tugging at his jacket sleeve, but he ignores him as well as the fact that everyone in the café is staring at him. He doesn't care; he has business to attend to.

"You know exactly what I mean. You're a friend of Bahorel's, correct?" The question makes the young man squirm uncomfortably.

"Yes, I was."

"Why didn't you join us? You promised you would fight with us, but I did not see you at the barricade and I remember everyone who was there."

"Monsieur, I don't – "

"No!" yells Enjolras when the man tries to get up from his barstool. "You say you were a friend of Bahorel's, but you didn't join him as you promised and now he's _dead_!"

"Enjolras, please, let's go," begs Marius from behind, but his voice sounds a million miles away.

"It was a lost cause," explains the man finally. "I said I would fight, but I came to my senses. It was only going to end in death and I have a family to think about, so I didn't go. I'm truly sorry about Bahorel and all the others lost, but I don't regret throwing my own life away."

Enjolras is barely aware of what happens next, but his fist connects with the man's nose and then he is being dragged out of the Musain.

* * *

Valjean is reading in the library – he's become partial to books on philosophy since gaining access to the Gillenormands' extensive collection – when he hears the front door. It doesn't faze him since he was expecting Marius and Enjolras to be return soon until he hears Enjolras's raised voice though he can't quite make out what he's saying. With a frown, Valjean remembers that they went to the Musain and quickly sets his book aside in favor of going out to the foyer to find out what's happened.

"…and _see_ people like that every day, I just can't _do_ it anymore!"

"Enjolras, please…"

Valjean's only caught the end of Enjolras's rant, but as soon as they come into his sight he can tell both boys are distressed. Enjolras is practically doubled over, one hand gripping his cane and the other cradling his injured leg, but his fiery blue eyes are wide and wild. Marius, on the other hand, looks quite upset and like he has no idea what to do.

"What's going on?" asks Valjean gently. The two of them look over at where he's standing at the sound of his voice.

"I need to get out of here," says Enjolras frustratingly. He says it as if he's said the same thing a hundred times already, which he may have to Marius.

"You were just out, weren't you?" replies Valjean. He's hoping he'll be able to coax Enjolras into talking, but the younger man will shut down completely if he says the wrong thing.

"I need to get out of _here_ , out of _Paris_ ," says Enjolras, looking around wildly before he makes for the stairs. Valjean follows him, alarmed at what he is hearing, but does not stop his attempt to climb the stairs. Instead, he helps Enjolras reach the top and continues to follow him into the bedroom.

"Why? Enjolras, what happened?" asks Valjean. Enjolras just shakes his head and clumsily retrieves the large carpetbag that his belongings were brought in months ago from under the bed. He's clearly intent on leaving, but Valjean cannot allow that. There is no way Enjolras can make it far on his own with his physical injuries and in this mental state. Fear strikes through him when he thinks of what could happen if Enjolras collapsed in the streets of Paris, far away from any friendly faces that might help him.

"He didn't react well to being in the Musain," says a quiet voice. Marius is standing in the doorway, looking paler than usual as he watches Enjolras feverishly throw clothes into the bag with the hand that doesn't hold the cane. "He sort of lost it, so we were going to leave and then he saw a man who was supposed to fight with us but didn't. He shouted at him a bit and then punched him. After, that I dragged him to the fiacre that was waiting for us and ever since then he's been ranting about how he can't stay here anymore."

"Thank you, Marius. Do you mind giving us some privacy?" asks Valjean kindly. He needs to get Enjolras back in a proper frame of mind and that will be easier if it's just the two of them. Marius obeys and shuts the door as he leaves. Once he's gone, Valjean grabs Enjolras's free arm, but Enjolras pulls away quickly.

"Don't touch me," he warns.

"Please, Enjolras, I'm trying to help you. You're not thinking clearly."

"Clearly enough to know that I need to get away for a little while."

"It was your first day out, maybe it will –"

"Don't say it will get better!" interrupts Enjolras. "It won't! In just one day, I saw dozens of people in the streets and all I could think about was how they let my cause down, let France down, let _my friends_ down. People I didn't even know. But I know none of them fought with us. They closed their doors to us when we needed their sanctuary. Some of them could've even been the soldiers that shot at us. And then…and then I saw that bastard in the café and I remembered how he promised to join us and I…"

Enjolras pauses, struggling to keep his composure. Valjean remains silent and lets him have that moment. Once he's found his composure, he continues. "I can't stay in Paris and live the rest of my life wondering if every person I see is someone who could've been the difference between failure and victory, between life and death. I can't do it, so I'm going back to Marseilles to see if my parents will take me in."

This is more surprising than anything to Valjean. Enjolras hardly ever speaks of his parents and still hasn't received a reply to the letter he sent them. Why would he want to go to them now?

"Running away from your problems won't solve them," he says wisely. Enjolras throws down the shirt he is holding and looks the older man directly in the eye.

"How would you know? You don't know anything about me, you don't know what will solve my problems," accuses Enjolras. His voice is borderline hysterical again, and Valjean knows what he has to do. He has to tell Enjolras about his past; it might be the only way to show the boy that he does understand and that staying here in Paris _is_ a good idea. He's thankful Marius isn't here; he isn't ready for the story to travel back to Cosette.

He takes a deep breath. He has never recounted his tale out loud before.

"I once told you I'd been to hell and back myself," begins Valjean, "but I did not tell you why. I wasn't ready then and perhaps I'm still not, but I can see it's the only way to get you to understand that I know how you are feeling and that I know what you're about to do is not the way to go."

"You don't have to – "

"Yes, I do. And I ask that you please let me finish without any interruptions." Valjean pauses, waiting to make sure Enjolras will remain silent, and then continues. "Thirty-seven years ago, I was living with my widowed sister and her seven children. It was just after the Revolution. There was no food or money. The children were starving. It didn't matter how much I worked, I couldn't earn enough to put bread on the table every night. So I…I stole a loaf of bread. Just one, to feed them for at least one night. But I got caught and sentenced to five years as a prisoner in the galleys at Toulon. It should have been a short and sweet sentence, over in the blink of an eye, but I foolishly kept trying to escape. None of the attempts worked, and the judge just continued to add years to my sentences until I ended up serving nineteen years. I was finally released on parole, but no one would hire or take in a convict so I reverted back to my old ways. I tried to steal from a bishop who'd offered me shelter for the night. Of course I was caught, but the bishop told the police that he'd given me the things I stole and gave me his two best silver candlesticks as well. He told me that he saved my soul for God and that I should become a better man. But I knew I couldn't do that as long as I was a convict, so I ripped up my parole papers, assumed the false name of Monsieur Madeleine, and became mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer. That's where I came to find Cosette, but I won't go into detail on that because that is Cosette's story to tell. Anyway, I adopted her, but then we had to leave because Inspector Javert, who was in charge of my case, found me. I knew he'd put me back in prison and now I had to Cosette to think about. I couldn't let him arrest me. We escaped to a convent where I began to go by Monsieur Fauchelevent and we stayed there until about a year ago when we came to Paris. Even then we led reclusive lives, which wasn't fair to Cosette, but I couldn't risk running into Javert. Still, he somehow managed to find me again and I was arranging for our passage to England when I learned of Marius's existence and…well, you know the rest of the story from there."

Enjolras is silent for what seems like forever. He's just staring down at his feet. Then he closes his eyes for a second, inhales deeply, and meets Valjean's eye once more.

"What's your real name?" he asks.

"Jean Valjean." Valjean hasn't said it out loud in so long; it almost feels strange on his lips. But if it will get Enjolras to stay…

"I appreciate you telling me this," says Enjolras slowly, "but that doesn't change this. I have to leave."

Valjean watches as Enjolras puts one more shirt in the bag and closes it. He's packed it too heavy – Valjean can tell. Even with all the progress he's made, there's no way Enjolras is going to be able to get himself and that bag down the stairs. Perhaps that will give Valjean more time to put a stop to this.

"What about the wedding?" he asks while Enjolras tries to pick up the carpetbag. He winces noticeably – toting around such baggage must be hard on his chest wounds, as Valjean suspected it would be.

"It'll be better without me," insists Enjolras. He won't meet Valjean's eye this time.

"Cosette will be heartbroken that you aren't there. She postponed it for months for _you_. And what will Marius do without his best man? He doesn't have anyone else." Guilt is not usually Valjean's choice of persuasion, but he's willing to do anything to keep Enjolras here. Not only is he sure Enjolras will break even more once out on his own without any help, but he also knows he won't be able to leave if Enjolras does first. It is not fair to Cosette to have her suffer two losses in the span of one month. He wouldn't do that to her, but his departure would be far more beneficial to her than Enjolras's.

"I'm sorry to upset Cosette. I truly have come to see her as the sister I never had. But I…I'm not the person who should be standing beside Marius on the most important day of his life. I _can't_ do it, I'd feel so fake. Like I was just pretending to belong. It's better this way. They'll come to see that," replies Enjolras with somber thought. All Valjean can think of is how he is running out of tactics, and suddenly Enjolras is shuffling towards the door so the words blurt out before he can stop them –

"I'm leaving after the wedding." He doesn't mean to say it; it just tumbles out of his mouth. He hadn't planned on telling anyone other than M. Gillenormand, he was just going to disappear quietly, but _anything_ to get Enjolras to stop walking.

"What?" asks Enjolras in blank confusion. Valjean sighs because he's already said it and he can't take it back; he has to keep going forward.

"Yes. Cosette doesn't know and neither does Marius. I beg you not to tell them. I'm leaving because I know my past will continue to haunt Cosette as it already has for so many years and I refuse to subject her to it any longer. She has a chance at a new life with Marius. I won't ruin it," explains Valjean.

"I don't see what this has to do with me."

"If you leave, I can't. It'll be too much for Marius and Cosette. But I have to leave for the sake of Cosette's happiness, so I am asking you to stay here for them. They are going to need someone to lean on when I'm gone."

There is a heavy silence, but when Enjolras speaks it is with slow, intense deliberation.

"How can they lean on me when I shatter at the gentlest touch?"

And then he's moving again. He reaches for the door handle and leaves the room with the carpetbag in tow. Valjean is too stunned to stop him; he merely follows Enjolras out to the hall, and watches as he slowly and painfully makes his way down the stairs. Marius and Cosette are at the bottom – they plead him to stop, to sleep off the day's events and reconsider when he's rested, but Enjolras just keeps going until he reaches the front door. It is then that he turns around and looks at the three of them. There are tears streaking his pale face, but Valjean doesn't know if they are from the pain of so much movement or of leaving this new family behind.

"I'm sorry," whispers Enjolras. And then he's gone.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

It's a five-day trip from Paris to Marseilles. Enjolras spends most of those five days in various fiacres, although heavy rain forces him to stay at an inn on the third night. It's been a difficult journey; Enjolras suspects the carriage drivers wouldn't be keen on helping him into the fiacres, so he's had quite a time trying to boost himself and his bag into the seats. By the time he reaches Marseilles, he's exhausted and there is a constant ache throughout his body but at least he is here.

He doesn't go to his parents' house immediately upon arrival, though. Since their mansion is on the outskirts of Marseilles, that would be another carriage trip and Enjolras doesn't have the strength for that nor does he feel ready to face his father again. He needs a night of rest before he confronts his parents for the first time in eight years so he finds an inn close to where the fiacre drops him off and checks out a room for the night.

The first thing Enjolras does once he's in the seclusion of his temporary room is pull out the paper and ink he thankfully remembered to pack in his hasty departure. He wants to write Valjean, Marius, and Cosette to tell them he's made it to Marseilles safely. He wants to tell them how sorry he is for leaving them because he _is_ even if he doesn't regret it.

Yet.

Enjolras realizes there is the possibility that he will show up at his parents' house tomorrow only to have them refuse to keep him. He won't be surprised if this happens, but he doesn't know what to do if it does. Go back to Paris? That option seems impossible right now. Perhaps he could ask to stay a few days with Combeferre's family. Their home is only a day's trip from his parents' and the Combeferres always loved having Enjolras visit. Of course, they might feel differently now that their son is no longer alive to accompany him, but Enjolras will worry about that later.

For now, he dips his pen into the black inkpot and begins to write.

* * *

It's early, the sun having only been up for a few hours, but Agathe Enjolras is awake. She sits in the parlor, already dressed for the day, and sips her morning tea. She knows her husband won't wake for another hour or so, but sleep just doesn't come naturally to her anymore. Her thoughts keep her awake at night and her sleep is punctuated with nightmares when it does finally come. They're always the same nightmares, too. Her beautiful boy ripped away from her, laying in some mass grave…

Agathe shakes her head slightly. She won't let the nightmares consume her during the day as well. Instead, she finishes her tea and rises from her seat in search of a breakfast pastry.

She's nearly made it to the kitchen down the hall when she hears the knock at the door. Agathe turns to go answer it since the maid's shift doesn't start for another twenty minutes, but she really can't imagine who would be calling at nearly seven o'clock in the morning. It can't be any of their friends; it's much too early and the company they keep would not be rude enough to show up unannounced at such an improper hour. Her curiosity is about to be satisfied as she reaches for the brass handle and pulls the large oak door open.

Agathe has half a mind to slam it shut as soon as she does.

This can't be. A ghost in standing in front of her. There is extreme familiarity in the golden curls, the blue eyes, and the handsomely chiseled face, but it _can't_ be.

Her only son Rene is standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Mere," he greets quietly. Agathe reaches out and brushes his arm with her hand; he is solid. He's not a ghost, he's really there. Unable to hold back, Agathe pulls him into a tight, abrupt hug, but releases him almost immediately when she hears the cry of pain that escapes him. Is he hurt? A closer look at her son tells her _yes_. A cane is holding him upright, he's much thinner and paler than she remembers, and there are dark purple circles under his eyes. What has happened to him?

"Rene, what are you doing here? It's been so long, we haven't heard a word from you in eight years, and now here you are and you're _injured_ ," asks Agathe in one breath. She supposes she should take more time to soak in the fact that her little boy, who is not so little anymore since he now towers over her, is with her again but she's just so shocked and confused. She wants answers before she can be happy that he is here.

Rene looks confused as well.

"Didn't you get my letter?" he asks. A letter? He wrote to her? Agathe shakes her head.

"No. There was an accident with the mail carriage last week and everything was lost. Your letter must have been in that group," she explains. Rene sighs and closes his eyes for a brief second.

"I will explain, but may I come inside first?" Agathe realizes they're still standing at the door and immediately steps aside to let Rene in. She watches worriedly as he slowly shuffles into the hall, clearly relying greatly on the cane in his hand.

"Let's go into the parlor. You ought to sit down. Should I fetch your father? I think he's still asleep, but – "

"He's right here and he wants to know what that boy is doing in our house." Agathe's head snaps up to look at the staircase. Simon has just reached the bottom, dressed in his day clothes, and looking angry. He's staring at Rene and his eyes are cold.

"I can explain," says Rene is a small voice that is very unlike him. "I had nowhere else to go."

"Have you abandoned your ridiculous revolutionary notions?"

"…no."

"Then you are still no longer welcome in my house," pronounces Simon. Agathe frowns; she knows Simon and Rene have always had their differences, but it baffles her that he can be so cold and unwelcoming to the son he hasn't seen in years.

"Simon, please, give him a chance," she begs. Rene just arrived – it all happened so quickly and doesn't even feel truly real, but she can't lose him again without knowing why he's come back.

"There's a reason he hasn't set foot in this house in eight years, Agathe," says Simon angrily. "And his manners clearly haven't improved since he just shows up unannounced at an ungodly hour. I don't want to hear anything out of him. I want him out of this house."

Before Agathe can respond, Rene speaks from beside her.

"I need to sit down," he says urgently but quietly. His voice was never so quiet as child; he was always loud and passionate.

"You can go sit down in an inn. You are not staying here," declares Simon. Rene looks desperately at him and at Agathe.

"Please, even just for a moment…then I'll go…but I can't – " He sways on his feet, and Agathe notices how tightly he is gripping his cane. He's pale and clammy; she suspects he might be ill and wonders how Simon can be so indifferent to their only son's clearly distressed state.

"Come sit in the parlor, dear," she says gently, looping her arm through his. She shoots a glare at Simon and adds protectively, "And not a word out of you. Just look at him – he can hardly stand!"

Agathe takes Rene's bag and helps him to the parlor. She eases him onto the sofa, noticing how he winces, and sits beside him. He buries his face in his hands and takes several very deep breaths before bringing his head back up.

"Rene," says Agathe softly, "what's happened?"

When Rene looks at her, she sees pain and suffering in his blue eyes. She remembers those same eyes from his childhood, but they were happy back then…although never quite content.

"When I left home, I met some people with the same ideas as me. We became friends and formed a revolutionary group. We called ourselves Les Amis de l'ABC and I was their leader," says Rene. Agathe bites her lip. She's heard of this group – there was a rebellion involving them several months ago and all were killed or presumed killed. When she read about it in the papers, she had a sinking feeling Rene was involved, thus beginning the nightmares, but no names were listed in the article so she never knew for sure.

"At first, it was just innocent protests and handing out flyers," continues Rene. "But that wasn't doing anything and we wanted to invoke _real_ change. So when the only politician we truly had faith in, General Lamarque, fell ill, we decided to do something. We held a protest at his funeral and then built a barricade to fight the National Guardsmen. It was supposed to prove a point, to help make France free, but it failed."

"Of course it did." Agathe and Rene both immediately look over at the parlor entrance. Neither one of them heard Simon enter, but there he is with his arms crossed in disapproval.

"It didn't fail because our ideas were wrong, although I know you think that is the case. It failed because we were outnumbered. People were too scared to fight, but if they'd joined us we would have been victorious!" bursts Rene. Agathe feels slightly relieved to hear that there is some passion left in his voice, but she wishes it wasn't accompanied by winces of pain. She still doesn't know what is wrong with him.

"You think that, but clearly there is a reason no one joined you. You're foolish if you can't see that," retorts Simon. Rene opens his mouth to argue, but Agathe puts a stop to it.

"That's enough! Simon, I want to know what's happened to our son, so you had better leave unless you can keep quiet," she says. She waits a moment, but he does not leave. Instead, he remains standing, looking angry but keeping his pursed lips shut. "Good. Rene, please continue."

He doesn't speak right away. Instead, he stares vacantly at the space in front of him. Agathe wonders if he is searching for the right words or envisioning the past he is about to speak of. When he finally talks, still staring, his voice is haunted.

"They were all killed in front of me. Shot, bayoneted, cannoned…all my friends. Some right next to me. I was the last one standing, but I was surrounded. I…I gave up, I threw my gun aside. They could have me. What difference did it make if I lived or died now that my friends and my cause were dead? I was shot nine times, eight in the chest and one in the leg, and fell out a window. I don't know how I survived, but I did. I'm still recovering, but I couldn't stay in Paris anymore. There are too many memories, so I came here," finishes Rene. His blue eyes are glistening, but he won't cry in front of his father. He hasn't cried in front of Simon since he was a young boy. Agathe takes his hand in hers.

"You can stay for as long as you need to. Your room is exactly as it was when you left," she says. She looks sharply over at her husband, daring him to argue with her. He does not. Instead, he leaves without a word. The moment he's gone, Rene lets his tears loose, and Agathe holds him just as she used to when he cried as a child.

* * *

Cosette sits on the bed in Enjolras's empty room. He's been gone for a week, and she still can't process it. How could he do this? He was still so weak, he needed to be here with them, _and_ there was the wedding. How could he leave when he knew how much Marius was counting on him to be in the wedding?

To make matters worse, Marius blames himself. For the past seven days, Cosette has tried to convince him otherwise, but he won't listen.

"It _is_ my fault," he's said a hundred times. "I shouldn't have taken him to the Musain. I didn't know it would break him like that. I thought it would good for him, but instead I've driven him away."

Now the house is even stiller than it was at the height of Enjolras's illness. Cosette didn't think that was possible, but they are all mourning the loss of the man they thought they'd saved when he began to recover and no one knows what to say. All Cosette can think of is how the wedding is exactly a month away and how difficult it is going to be without Enjolras.

"Cosette?" She looks up to find Papa standing in the doorway. His face bears sadness and concern.

"Papa, I wasn't expecting you to be up here."

"Nor I you. What are you doing in here?" he asks. Cosette shrugs slightly.

"It helps to be in here. I don't know why; it doesn't make me feel closer to him. On the contrary, the emptiness reminds me how far away he is. But coming in here when I don't know what else to do…it helps," she explains. It's a terrible explanation, but one that Papa accepts and she is grateful for that. He comes to sit on the bed next her and puts an arm around her shoulder.

"There's no one to be blamed for this, you know. Enjolras is fighting to gain control over all that is haunting him and leaving is how he felt he could best deal with it. But he'll see eventually that the best place for him to be is here with us and he _will_ return," says Papa.

"How can you be so sure?" asks Cosette. She remembers the look on his face when he left and thinks it was the look of a man who never wants to come back.

"Enjolras and I are not so different. I understand him. I understand why he thought running away from his ghosts was the answer, but I also know that he will realize it's not. He'll realize he has to deal with the problem head on, and the only place he can do that is here in Paris."

Cosette frowns. Whenever Papa speaks, she feels as if there is something he is not telling her, something that he is hiding. It's been that way ever since he adopted her and, while she very rarely questions it, she cannot handle the secrecy on top of losing Enjolras.

"Papa, will you _please_ tell me about your life? You say these things and I don't understand your meaning. I don't know who you are or anything about your past besides the small bit you've elected to share which is next to nothing. I know you must have felt it was inappropriate to share with me when I was younger, but I'm ready now. I can take it. Please tell me, Papa," begs Cosette.

"I don't know, _ma petite_ ," says Papa hesitantly. But he sighs and relents after Cosette touches his arm gently, looking into his eyes with her own wide, sad blue ones.

"I'm not who I say I am, Cosette," he says. "I'm not who you think I am."

"You are my father and you are the kindest person I have ever met. That much is true and that is all that needs to be true," she replies. She means it, too. She doesn't care who he is really is or what his past consists of; Papa is a good person and Cosette is sure of that no matter what.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry it took so long to update! I was having some serious writer's block.  
> I'm also thinking about wrapping this up in the next three or so chapters?

Valjean isn't prepared to tell Cosette about his past and he doesn't know how she will react, but he acknowledges that he can't put it off any longer. That is why, sitting beside her on Enjolras's bed, he recounts the same tale he told Enjolras only a week ago.

He studies Cosette's face the entire time. Her expression shifts between engaged, sympathetic, and angry when he speaks of his treatment in prison, but she never looks disgusted or judgmental. When he is finished, there is silence between them and Cosette wraps her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Thank you for telling me," she breathes into his shirt before she lets go. Valjean attempts a smile. He is still a little unsettled after having to tell her his story, but he is pleased that she does not seem upset with him.

"I'm sorry I did not tell you sooner," says Valjean quietly. Cosette softly smiles at him with such understanding that Valjean cannot believe he has raised such an extraordinary young woman.

"I know. And I'm not upset. I think you're quite brave, Papa," she says kindly. "I only hope Enjolras is able to overcome his past as you did."

Her words stab at Valjean like a knife. He hasn't overcome his past, not truly. If Cosette knew of his plans to leave after the wedding, she surely would not still think so highly of him. He opens his mouth to respond, not entirely sure of what he is going to say, when there is a knock at the door. Marius is standing in the doorway with an envelope in his hand.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he mumbles, "but there's a letter from Enjolras."

* * *

 

Cosette's lovely blue eyes light up when Marius informs her and Fauchelevent of the letter, though he can't see why. _He_ certainly doesn't want to hear about how wonderfully Enjolras is doing in Marseilles, away from Paris. Away from him and Cosette.

Marius hands the letter to Cosette. He hasn't read it yet; he isn't sure he wants to read it at all. But Cosette tears the envelope open as soon as it is in her hands and unfolds the thick parchment.

"'To my Parisian friends,'" reads Cosette. "'I have finally reached Marseilles, but I have not seen my parents yet. I am currently staying the night in an inn and will travel to their house tomorrow. The journey was decent, although I must admit I am quite tired from such lengthy travelling. Please do not worry – I will be fine after a night's rest. I will write again once I am settled in with my parents. Once again, I offer my apologies for my sudden departure. I am truly sorry for leaving, but I could not stay. I hope you all are doing well. Best, Enjolras.'"

The room is silent for a good two minutes. No one knows what to say, Marius least of all. The letter is vague; there are no real details. He can't feel secret happiness that Enjolras is failing away from Paris – he hates himself for admitting that that would be his reaction – and he can't be upset that Enjolras is doing well without them. It sounds as if Enjolras is just existing at the moment, not really here nor there in terms of his well-being.

"I expect we'll get more details in the second letter," Cosette finally says, breaking the silence. Her voice is awkward and Marius can hear the hurt in it – she's disappointed that Enjolras didn't write more. Marius can't empathize because he isn't sure _he_ wants details, but he knows how much Cosette was looking forward to the letter. He puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, which she takes in her own, and pities her.

"We should just be grateful he's made it there safely," says Fauchelevent. Marius and Cosette murmur in agreement. Marius might be upset with Enjolras's choices, but he'd certainly rather have Enjolras safely in Marseilles than dead on the side of the road somewhere.

"Should we write back?" asks Marius. He wants to write and beg Enjolras to come home, to tell him how deathly still the house has been since his departure and how much they need him. But he can tell by the look on Cosette's father's face that writing back would not be a good idea and he feels his spirits droop even lower.

"Perhaps after we receive his second letter," replies Fauchelevent. "For now, it would be best to give him his space."

Marius doesn't argue, but wonders if Fauchelevent understands how much loss he has had to endure in his short existence: his mother, his father, temporarily his grandfather, and nearly all of his friends. He can't stand to permanently lose Enjolras as well.

* * *

 

For three days, Enjolras does not leave his childhood bedroom in his parents' home. Once his mother tucked him into the bed, he found that he did not have the strength to get back up again. He stays in bed for those three days, having the servant bring him all his meals and resting so that he might regain the energy he needs to have a true discussion with his father. To convince him to let his son stay.

Pere does not want him here, he knows that. He made that perfectly clear on the day of Enjolras's arrival and it was only confirmed by the heated argument Enjolras overheard the other morning. Normally, Enjolras should not be able to hear his parents' conversations since their bedroom is all the way down the hall, but Mere was on her way to his room with his breakfast tray when she was confronted by Pere.

 _"_ _I want him out of this house," Pere had said. "He is nothing but a leech. Three days he's been here and he's spent every second in bed. Laziness, I tell you, and I won't have him sucking up my food and my money because he can't be bothered to work or get out of bed or do_ anything _."_

_When Mere responded, her voice was harsher than Enjolras had ever heard when it came to her husband._

_"_ _Hush, Simon. Rene is not lazy. He's injured and sick. Why can't you see that? The journey here must have been difficult for him, he needs rest."_

_"_ _Take him to a damn doctor if he's so ill. If he doesn't need to see a doctor, he doesn't need to be treated like a poor invalid or a sick child."_

_"_ _If he isn't out of bed of his own accord by tomorrow, I will send for a doctor. Until then, I will treat him however I see fit. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must take Rene his breakfast before the croissants cool."_

Today Enjolras is going to get out of bed. He still feels weak and his healing injuries constantly ache, but he does not want to be subjected to another doctor's care. It took long enough for him to adjust to Dr. Bonhomme instead of having Combeferre or Joly tend to him, and besides, he's tired of doctors and medicines; he wants life to go back to normal. Or at least the closest possible thing to normal because Enjolras knows complete normalcy is no longer a possibility, not when he can't get around without a cane and not when all his friends are resting in the dirt in different locations across France.

But that doesn't mean he is not going to try.

When the sun rises enough to spill bright light into his bedroom, Enjolras reaches for his cane and slides out of bed. He takes a deep breath: he can do this. He tries to remind himself as he shuffles across the room to retrieve clean clothes that he was walking well enough back in Paris. This trip has weakened him, yes, but at least he knows he has the capability to move around.

It takes some time to work his injured leg into a fresh pair of pants thanks to the sharp pains in his chest when he bends over, but Enjolras manages to completely dress himself with time to spare before his breakfast tray is scheduled to arrive. He takes another deep breath – the effort in dressing alone was enough to drain him, but he has to keep going. He has to prove to his father he is not a lazy, worthless leech.

Ideally, Enjolras would go down to the kitchen to get his own breakfast, but stairs do not sound like a good idea. He hadn't even come close to mastering them before his departure, and he knows he would look even weaker to Pere if he got stuck on the staircase the way he did at Christmas. No, there will be opportunity for the stairs later. Instead, Enjolras goes back to his bed and sits at the edge of it, waiting for either Mere or the maid to bring the tray.

It's Mere.

"Rene, dear, what are you doing out of bed?" she asks in concern as she moves to set the tray beside him on the bed. Enjolras finds he cannot muster the strength to look at her; she thinks he is too weak to take care of himself. He shouldn't be embarrassed by such a thing in front of his mother – it is her job to fuss over him, after all – but Enjolras has changed since he left home eight years ago. He was never one for coddling, but now he can't bear it, preferring instead to suffer in silence while those around him believe he is fine. The only people he couldn't ever trick were Combeferre and Courfeyrac, his best friends who knew him better than anyone, although Grantaire had a knack from time to time of seeing through Enjolras's act if he was sober enough.

Thinking of them is still painful.

"I'm fine, Mere," says Enjolras with a forced smile. "I don't need to stay in bed anymore."

Mere looks at him skeptically. It's been a while since Enjolras had to lie about his wellbeing to her; clearly he's forgotten that she can also see right through him.

"If this is about your father – " she begins, but Enjolras cuts her off.

"It's not about Pere," he says, even though part of it is.

"Then what is it about? I don't understand why you won't give yourself time to heal. You've always been stubborn, Rene, but you nearly collapsed in the hallway when you arrived – surely that is a sign that you need to slow down."

"I _have_ given myself time," insists Enjolras. "My wounds are technically infection free. I was walking quite well back in Paris. I only needed a few days to rest after my journey and I've done that. I'm fine now."

There is a heavy silence until Mere sighs and quietly whispers, "If you're so fine, why have you been screaming in your sleep every night since you got here?"

Enjolras freezes. He didn't know he was still having nightmares. He thought they'd been gone for weeks, and he can't remember having any the past few nights. Usually his own screaming wakes him and that has not been the case.

"But – how did you – I…" Sentences will not form. Enjolras doesn't even know what to say. He wants to apologize to his mother for making her listen to his agonizing nightmares, he's been told by Valjean and Cosette that his screams are quite terrifying, and he wants to ask if Pere has also heard the screaming. But the right words will not come and he thinks he knows the answer to the latter anyway.

"It's usually just screams, you hardly ever talk along with it. Of course, I've only been witness to it three times, but you've only mumbled a bit. Names, I think, although I don't recognize them. By the time I reach your room, you are always finished and I can't bear to wake you up. You need your sleep so badly," explains Mere softly. Enjolras cannot look at her even more so than before and he has a feeling she doesn't want to look at him either. Part of him insists that he hug her, hold her close and apologize for what she's had to endure, but he refrains from the tactility. He does, however, find the words to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Mere. I should have warned you, but I didn't think I was having nightmares anymore," he says with remorse. His mother's delicate hand gently brushes his pale cheek.

"Please don't apologize, Rene. I can't even imagine what you've been through to cause…well, anyway, what can I do to help?" asks Mere. Enjolras shakes his head with downcast eyes. There is nothing she can do for him.

"You can't help me," he tells her. _No one can_. But Mere will not let the subject go.

"Surely there must be something," she insists. Enjolras feels his temper flare; he doesn't want to be angry with her, but he forgot how annoyingly persistent she is.

"There isn't," he replies sharply, trying to keep his temper in check. His mother doesn't deserve to be yelled at just because she is trying to care. However, he hopes the warning tone in his voice will keep her from continuing to prod. It does.

"Go on and eat your breakfast," she says, shifting uncomfortably. "I'll give you some privacy."

And just like that she is gone. Guilt eats at Enjolras; he didn't mean to upset her. He finds that he has no appetite for the breakfast she's brought him, so he gets up, grabs his cane, and stiffly leaves the room.

He doesn't know where he's going to go. He can't make it down the stairs on his own and there is nothing upstairs but bedrooms. But he knows he doesn't want to stay shut up in his room all day, so he wanders the halls of the second floor aimlessly until he runs into the very last person he wants to see at the moment: his father.

"What are you doing?" asks Pere, eyeing his son suspiciously. Enjolras looks down at his feet. He is weary from so much movement after three days in bed and an unexpected confrontation is not what he needs. He planned on speaking to Pere today, yes, but on his own terms and with a bit of notice so he could be prepared.

"Fancied a walk," he replies casually. He realizes too late that his words sound insolent.

"Are you trying to be funny?" asks Pere coldly. Enjolras shakes his head, still avoiding his father's gaze.

"No, sir." Even without looking, Enjolras can feel Pere's eyes sweeping his body.

"Your mother says you are sick. Is this true?"

"I am recovering."

"But are you _sick_?" repeats Pere. Enjolras hesitates; his father will have no sympathy for weakness and fatigue, but he cannot lie and say he is sick when his fever has been gone for months.

"I am recovering, as I said, but my fever broke months ago and the infection has left my wounds," he finally says. With great effort, Enjolras forces himself to look at his father. Pere's face is unreadable, as usual. Enjolras has no idea if he is angry, sympathetic, or indifferent. But he has a feeling he will soon find out, and that feeling is correct.

"If you are not ill and are not in need of a doctor's care, what are you still doing here?" asks Pere. "I think all these revolutionary ideas have gotten to you. Don't think I don't hear your screaming at night. I won't have it in my house anymore."

His tone is icy and his face is a stone. So he does know about the nightmares. Enjolras gapes at him, cannot find any words to say, and watches as his father strides past him and disappears down the stairs.

His father still hates him, even after hearing of all his struggles yesterday. Enjolras cannot think or breathe or move; he slides to the floor, ignoring the pain screaming out from his injuries, and stays there until the maid fetches his mother after finding him staring blankly at the wall.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I finally updated! Sorry for the month long wait!

Agathe sits in the kitchen, trying to enjoy her own breakfast as she worries about her son, when the maid enters abruptly. She looks terrified and Agathe drops her pastry immediately – something must be wrong with Rene; Agathe can feel it. What else could be so wrong that the maid looks as if she's seen a ghost?

"Madame, please come quickly," she says breathlessly. "It's Monsieur Rene, he is curled up on the floor in the hallway and I cannot get him to move."

Agathe stands up immediately and follows the maid up to the second floor. Thoughts race through her mind and only increase her worry. Has he further injured himself? That seems to be the most logical explanation, but she assumes there could be a million other things wrong that her mind cannot think of in this state of fear.

She finds her son just as the maid said – sitting on the hallway floor with his knees drawn to his chest, staring blankly at the wall with wide blue eyes. Agathe crouches down beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Rene, what is it?" she murmurs softly. He does not even acknowledge her presence. She scans him with her eyes but cannot see any fresh injuries. Still, something must have happened to upset him so much. Agathe wraps her arms around him and eases him up from the floor. Rene whimpers quietly, likely from pain, and allows himself to be lead back to his bedroom. Agathe settles him back in bed and kisses his forehead. She wishes she could do something for him, but she can't if he won't speak so she thinks it is best to give him space until he is ready.

She has just reached the door when she hears Rene's voice, no louder than a whisper.

"He hates me." Agathe turns around slowly to look at her son. He is not looking at her, but there are tears welling in his agonized eyes. Rene is referring to Simon, she just knows it. And she won't stand for what her husband is doing to him anymore. Part of her thinks she should stay and comfort Rene, but she feels she must speak to Simon before she loses her nerve so she leaves the room without a second thought.

He is sitting in his study, sipping a cup of tea and reading over a piece of parchment that Agathe can only assume is some sort of financial statement. He looks up when he hears her enter and sighs.

"It's not my fault the boy is too soft to take the truth, Agathe," he says, already knowing what she has come to discuss with him. His voice is weary and Agathe feels her anger ebb slightly. Despite all that he's done to hurt their son, Simon is still her husband and she is sorry that all this is taking a toll on him.

"Rene craves your acceptance, Simon. It's killing him to think that you still do not love him, even after all these years apart," she replies. Simon presses a hand to his forehead and looks more tired than he has in years. Quite frankly, she hasn't seen him like this since Rene left home eight years ago.

"I don't not love him. I just…don't understand him. And I can't support the things he believes in," he explains.

"Then why don't you tell him that instead of screaming at him to leave?"

"Because he's a criminal, Agathe. Look at what he's been doing in Paris, look at what got him in such a state. I will not have that in our house, ruining our good name."

Now Agathe sighs. This is her last chance to make her husband understand or she will have to ask Rene to leave because she cannot bear to see either one of them continue to hurt like this. She gently touches Simon's arm.

"Yes, Simon, _look at what he's been doing_. Perhaps you don't agree with his actions, but look at what he's been through. He's recovering from extensive injury and he's endured the trauma of watching all his friends perish. He came here seeking comfort and I don't think he can stand to lose us, to lose _you_ , all over again," says Agathe. For a moment, Simon just looks at her. Agathe holds her breath, praying that he will finally understand and forgive his son.

"He used to have thicker skin," mumbles Simon. Agathe sighs again and sinks into the closest chair.

"He is not weak, Simon. He's grieving and traumatized, can't you see that? He needs time to heal." The truth is Agathe doesn't know if Rene will ever be completely well again, but saying it aloud makes it seem as if it could be true.

"I don't have that much time to give," says Simon. She could be mistaken, but Agathe swears there is a hint of regret in his tone.

Realizing that she is not going to get what she came for, Agathe gets up to leave. Just before she does, she turns back to her husband and asks, "Will you at least allow him to stay for a few more days?"

She expected some hesitation in his reply, but there was none.

"Yes. He should stay until he is better."

* * *

"Marius, I need to speak with you."

Cosette makes sure her voice is gentle but firm; she does not want to be stern with Marius, but she wants him to listen to her. Lately he has a terrible habit of avoiding any serious conversations and, while Cosette understands that he is in a fragile state presently, there are things she must discuss with him before they are married. Namely, her past and the past of her father, who has granted her permission to tell Marius of his true identity.

"Cosette, love, I really don't want to – "

"Please, Marius," begs Cosette. She is standing in Marius's bedroom; he is sitting on his bed and currently trying to avoid the huge, sad blue eyes that have fixated their gaze on him to no avail. One look at her and he lets outs a defeated sigh, patting the free space on the bed for her to sit on.

"Alright," says Marius. Cosette comes to sit by him. "I do apologize, Cosette. I know I've been distant lately and you absolutely do not deserve that. Please know that it will not be like this for forever. I just…so much has happened and I do not know how…"

His voice trails off, but Cosette takes his hand in hers and stares into his brown eyes with all the love she has.

"Do not be sorry. I'm not angry with you. You need some time to process all that has happened with Enjolras and I understand that. But I want you to know that I will always be by your side. I will _never_ go away," she promises fiercely. Marius manages a small smile and kisses her hand.

"I know," he replies. "Now what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Me, actually. And Papa."

"Oh?"

"I've never told you about my childhood, and I recently learned some very important things about my father that he is allowing me to share with you. I want to tell you these things before the wedding because I do not want to have any secrets when we start our life together," begins Cosette. She takes a deep breath. "My birth name is Euphrasie Tholomyes, although I've never been called that in my life since my mother nicknamed me Cosette as an infant. My father abandoned my mother shortly before my birth and left her in poverty, so she sent me to live with an innkeeper's family while she tried to earn enough money to provide for me. She meant the best for me and had every intention to come get me in a few years when her life turned around, but she couldn't escape the life of poverty so I spent five years being severely mistreated by the family I was staying with. By…by the Thenardiers."

Cosette watches nervously as Marius's face rearranges into a puzzled expression. He did not know that she'd lived with one of his best friend's family nor that she'd been horribly abused by that friend. She's never told him until now and she is sure that Eponine had never brought it up.

"You…you grew up with Eponine?" he asks slowly, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. Cosette nods.

"Yes, I did. Her parents took me in and kept me on the grounds that my mother would send seven francs a month, so I spent a good part of my childhood with Eponine and her sister, Azelma."

"But…you said they mistreated you?" The hurt in Marius's eyes is almost too much for Cosette to bear. "Was Eponine…I mean…did _she_ mistreat you?"

Cosette presses a delicate hand to Marius's cheek. She needs him to know about her childhood, but she will not let him think that his late friend was a bad person.

"You have to understand that she was only following her mother's example. She and Azelma were very sweet to me at the beginning, we were great playmates, but then they saw how Madame Thenardier was always so cruel to me. They thought that was how they were meant to treat me as well, especially when I became the inn's servant. But Marius, do not think less of Eponine. I bear no ill feelings towards her and I am sure we would have been friends had the situation been different. If anything, you should pity her more – I was rescued by Papa, who adopted me after my mother died and gave me a good life while Eponine was take off her pedestal by her parents and thrown into a poor life of crime," explains Cosette. Marius nods and Cosette is pleased to see that his expression has relaxed a little. She continues with her story.

"My mother used to work for my father at a factory in Montreuil-sur-mer. Unbeknownst to him, she was fired when the foreman learned of my illegitimate existence and contracted tuberculosis when she was working as…as a prostitute." Cosette says the word very quietly. She knows her mother only did what she had to do and Cosette is not ashamed of her, but she worries that others will think badly of Fantine when they learn of her forced occupation. Still, Cosette sees no judgement in Marius's eyes. "Papa saved her from arrest after she fought off a violent customer, but she died shortly after. He promised her he would raise me as his own and he did. But he lied to her about who he was. At the time, he was called Monsieur Madeleine, mayor of Montreuil. He changed his name to Fauchelevent after he adopted me and took me to live in a convent."

Now Marius looks even more confused than when Cosette mentioned Eponine.

"I don't understand."

"My father's real name is Jean Valjean. He served nineteen years in prison for stealing a loaf of bread for his starving family, and he was greatly mistreated. He broke his parole after his release so that he could turn his life around, but he's had to assume false identities ever since to protect himself. He only told me about this a few days ago, but he agreed that you should know as well," says Cosette. Marius nods slowly, processing all that she has just told him.

"Does Grandfather know?"

"No, but I'm sure Papa wouldn't mind if – "

"No," interrupts Marius. His voice is so firm that Cosette is a bit taken aback. "It's better if he doesn't know. Grandfather…he's been better since June, but there are reasons I didn't talk to him for years. We have different views on just about everything and I think we still do – he's just keeping his opinions to himself to make his guests more comfortable. But he likes your father and I'm worried he won't take kindly to finding out he's been housing a former convict."

Cosette nods understandingly and takes Marius's hands. She's happy he voiced his concerns about his grandfather after she shared some of her own secrets; she wants to know how he truly feels about all things so that they no longer have such secrets. And Marius never does speak much of his childhood with M. Gillenormand. Cosette knew they'd had issues, but she thought they moved past all of that after the barricade. While they're getting along better, it's good to know the truth: that Marius is still wary and unsure of how M. Gillenormand will take certain topics being brought up. It helps Cosette understand Marius better, helps her to see his thought processes.

"I'm glad we had this discussion," says Cosette honestly.

"As am I. Thank you for sharing so much with me, my love, and entrusting me with your past," replies Marius. He pecks her on the cheek and then stares into her eyes lovingly. When he does that, Cosette thinks that her heart will swell and burst with how full of love it is. She is so grateful for him and is sure that she could never love anyone more than she loves him.

* * *

Valjean is sitting in his room just as Cosette is telling Marius about their past lives. He shouldn't be feeling so nervous – he trusts Marius – but he can't help it. After thirty years of keeping his guard up and letting no one in, it's instinct.

He's happy Marius will know, though. It's made him start to think…what if he doesn't have to leave after the wedding? His exit from Cosette's life was supposed to be a good thing to keep his past from haunting her. But now she knows and his son-in-law knows, and, unless Marius's reaction is the complete opposite of what Valjean thinks it will be, neither of them hate him for it. Rather, they are understanding of what happened to him.

Maybe his past won't affect them the way he thought it would.

Javert is dead, after all, and he was really the only person left who cared about catching Prisoner 24601. Valjean would continue to use his cover name of Fauchelevent as a precautionary, but perhaps there is no reason for him to flee.

Relief surges through him. Cosette is the best thing to have ever happened to him and he does not have to leave her now. He has never felt so liberated in all his years.

Now if only he could get Enjolras back to help him. Then his life would be full with nothing but contentment.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Somehow, although Enjolras does not know how, Combeferre's parents learn that he is back home in Marseilles. Mere ran into Combeferre's mother while out, she asked how Enjolras was, and now she and her husband are due at the Enjolras household in a matter of minutes to see him.

He has never felt so anxious in his life.

How can he face his best friend's parents when Combeferre is dead and Enjolras is alive? He can only imagine how furious they will be with him, and he wonders if there will be yelling. He wouldn't blame them if they yelled. In fact, he thinks he might feel better if they did. Too many of his friends had parents who didn't care at all about their sons, but Combeferre's parents still loved him and Enjolras feels he deserves their anger for leading their son to his death.

"Rene?" Mere's soft voice interrupts Enjolras's panicked thoughts. She is standing in his doorway, looking concerned. Enjolras swallows hard and pushes himself up from his bed with the help of the cane.

"The Combeferres are here?" he asks quietly, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Mere nods. Enjolras tries to pull himself together as he follows her down to the parlor, but he can't stop the nervous thoughts from racing through his mind.

_What do I say them?_

_Are they even going to want to hear anything I have to say or will they just yell at me and leave?_

_I can't do this. I can't face them, look them in the eyes, when their son is dead because of me. I'll just have to make some excuse, I'll just have to –_

But then he is shuffling into the parlor, and there is no time to back out because Mere is leaving to give them privacy and they're _here_ , they're sitting on the velvet sofa just feet away from him. Combeferre's parents. Despite his internal insistence that he would not be able to face them, all Enjolras can do is stand frozen just steps into the parlor and stare wide-eyed at the couple who once treated him like a son.

They've aged since Enjolras last saw them a year ago on Christmas Eve, but it's not natural. It's the kind of aging a parent goes through when they have to endure the loss of a child. Madame Combeferre's eyes and mouth are perpetually turned down in sadness, Monsieur Combeferre's face is lined where it was once smooth, and they both have more gray threading through their hair than Enjolras remembers.

The guilt hits him harder than ever, seeing in person how his actions have hurt the people who became his surrogate parents once his own abandoned him. Mme. Combeferre opens her mouth and Enjolras braces himself for the harsh words he knows are about to come.

"Rene, dear, why don't you sit down? You look dead on your feet."

Whatever Enjolras was expecting, it wasn't that. Her tone is soft and gentle, as it always has been with him, and she addresses him by his first name like a mother would despite the many times he's insisted he prefers going by his surname. She isn't angry with. She _should_ be furious with him, but instead she is concerned for his well-being.

He can't understand it. He deserves her hatred and yet he is receiving her sympathy.

"I…I'm fine, I…why aren't you yelling?" asks Enjolras with childlike innocence. He didn't mean to ask the question, but it was burning his tongue and managed to escape. The Combeferres both smile sadly at him.

"We aren't angry with you, dear, if that's what you think," replies Mme. Combeferre. "We came to see how you were, not to yell at you."

"Sit down, son, and then we'll talk," adds M. Combeferre. Enjolras feels slightly dazed as he limps over to the sofa and takes his place between the two of them. Mme. Combeferre lays a gentle hand on his good leg while M. Combeferre sets Enjolras's cane aside for him.

"You should be furious with me," says Enjolras hollowly. He stares down at his hands because now he truly cannot look at them. They don't see that Combeferre's death is his fault and he can't face that undeserved kindness.

"Why? Because you were the leader of the group? You may have been the chief, Rene, but Sebastien believed in freedom and equality every bit as much as you did," reassures Combeferre's mother. Enjolras shakes his head and absentmindedly starts to wring his hands.

"No," he replies. "No, it's not that. I know Combeferre believed in the same things I did – do – but the protest was _my_ idea. The barricade was _my_ idea. 'Ferre and Courfeyrac helped out with the details, but _I_ was the leader. _I_ was the one who came up with the plan that got all of them killed. Your son is _dead_ …because of _me_."

Tears are welling in his eyes, but Enjolras is determined not to cry in front of the Combeferres. It's difficult though; this is the first time he has truly articulated his guilt to other people and the words taste strange spoken aloud. Still, they have to be said because Mme. and M. Combeferre do not seem to understand that they should blame Enjolras, and they _have_ to understand this.

"Oh, Rene…is that what you think?" asks Mme. Combeferre. Her voice is shaking, and when Enjolras finally gathers the courage to look at her he sees that there are also tears in her eyes. He tries not to think of how they are the same warm brown as Combeferre's.

"We don't blame you," says M. Combeferre, putting a fatherly hand on Enjolras's shoulder, "because it's not your fault. We know you, Rene – you gave your men the option to leave when the outlook was gloomy, did you not?"

Enjolras nods.

"And our son chose to stay," he continues. "Sebastien was a smart boy. You know that. If he didn't think the fight was worth his life, he would have left. He died because he thought your cause was worth dying for."

Enjolras nods slowly as the words sink in. This is information that he knows but has pushed aside in his grief. Of course Combeferre believed in the cause. Of course he would have left if he didn't. He stood by Enjolras's side because he wanted to, not because he had to.

"Okay," he says quietly. He doesn't miss the way Combeferre's parents exhale in relief.

"Good boy," says Mme. Combeferre. She brushes his blond curls back lovingly and kisses his forehead. "Now, how are you doing?"

Here Enjolras hesitates. He doesn't want to lie to Combeferre's parents and he knows he doesn't have to, but he also doesn't want to worry them. If he reveals the truth – that he almost died and is struggling with depression alongside his physical injuries – he will only be adding to their burden.

"I…I've been better," he finally says honestly with a nervous laugh. Combeferre's mother croons sympathetically.

"I'm sure, dear. But are you healing?" she asks. Enjolras gives a little nod.

"Slowly, yes. My injuries still hurt and I think the cane will be necessary for the rest of my life, but I am making progress," he replies. He wonders for a second if he should tell them about the emotional issues he's been enduring, but ultimately decides against it. They'll be happier not knowing.

"Well, you know we will always be here for you if you need anything," says M. Combeferre. Enjolras nods, although he didn't know that until just a few minutes ago. He assumed they would never want to see him again, but instead they are still the loving pseudo-parents he has always known.

"I know," he says in a thick voice that is holding back tears. Mme. Combeferre puts her arm around him and rubs his back soothingly as M. Combeferre reaches for a burlap sack that Enjolras hasn't noticed was sitting by his feet.

"We brought some things for you," he says, handing Enjolras the bag.

"We went to Sebastien's apartment a few days after we buried him to clean it out, and we knew that some of his things just had to be given to you," adds Mme. Combeferre. With shaking fingers, Enjolras opens the bag and begins to pull out its contents. There is Combeferre's favorite political journal that he would read to Enjolras when the latter was ill, a royal blue cravat, one of his prized ink pens, and –

"No," says Enjolras firmly when he pulls out Combeferre's well-used spectacles. "Absolutely not. I accept everything else and thank you for it, but I cannot take these from you."

Combeferre's glasses were the signature piece of his appearance. They were always, _always_ perched on his nose, shoved up absentmindedly when they started to slide too far down. They hold too much sentimental value; Enjolras can't take them.

"We want you to have them, Rene," insists Mme. Combeferre. "You were one of his dearest friends. His father and I have so many other important things of his – we want you to have his glasses. Please take them."

Enjolras stares down the familiar spectacles. They've been cleaned since they were retrieved from Combeferre's body – the last Enjolras saw them, they were covered in blood spatters. But now they look impeccably pristine, as if they are waiting for Combeferre to put them back on.

At this, Enjolras cannot hold back the tears any longer. He puts the glasses back in the sack and cradles it close to his chest while noisy tears fall down his face.

"I'm s-sorry," he apologizes as he attempts to stifle his sobs. Mme. Combeferre pulls him into a hug and, after a few minutes in her embrace, Enjolras is finally able to settle himself down. He wipes away the salty tears and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "I just…this all means so much to me. Thank you, both of you, for honoring me with so many of Combeferre's possessions."

"It's only right for you to have them," replies M. Combeferre. He and Mme. Combeferre rise from the sofa, and help Enjolras to his feet before handing him his cane.

"I'm afraid it's time for us to leave. It was wonderful seeing you, dear. Please, don't be a stranger," says Combeferre's mother. She gives Enjolras another hug and kisses his cheek.

"You're always welcome in our house, son," says Combeferre's father. He shakes Enjolras's hands and squeezes his shoulder. They both take one last look at Enjolras and exit the parlor, presumably to bid his parents goodbye before leaving the house.

Enjolras doesn't move. He doesn't leave the parlor nor does he sit back down. He just stands there in front of the sofa, leaning on his cane and ignoring the slight throbbing in his leg. He hasn't felt this light, this _free_ , since his dream months ago. His friends may have forgiven him in that dream, but deep down Enjolras felt that their parents – or at least those who had parents that still cared about them like Combeferre's – would resent him, hate him, blame him. Today he realizes that that is not the case. He came to Marseilles running away from problems that do not truly exist, and now he knows what he must do.

Enjolras shuffles down the hall to the library where his parents are sitting in armchairs by the large, sunny windows.

"I need to go back to Paris," he announces.

* * *

The wedding is only a week away and, surprisingly, Marius is not nervous. Normally, he is the type of person to get cold feet and be a nervous wreck before such a major event. But as he sits as the dinner table and watches Cosette animatedly recount her adventures of the day to him and Valjean, he isn't nervous at all. She is the one for him, the only one, and he has no fears about marrying her.

Marius only wishes he could make their wedding even better for her. It will be nice, he is sure, but he knows Cosette is worried about not having a wedding party. She doesn't have anyone to be a bridesmaid or maid of honor, and the only person who could be Marius's best man is miles away in Marseilles. A few days ago, Marius had to comfort Cosette as she cried about how his extended family that Grandfather invited was going to hate her because she couldn't provide a traditional wedding party. It broke Marius's heart because _he_ doesn't mind having a small wedding, but he'd give Cosette the world if he could. Anything to make her happy. It just so happens that he can't provide the thing that would make her happy.

But Marius's family will love Cosette. He has no doubts about that. She's warm, kind, and friendly – how could they not love her?

A knock at the door interrupts Marius's inner thoughts.

"Who on earth would be calling at dinner time?" asks Valjean to no one in particular. Cosette rises from her chair with a smile on her lips.

"I'll get it, Papa. It's probably just an alms collector," she says. She glides across the dining room and disappears. Marius and Valjean sit in silence – they like each other, but Marius is still incredibly awkward around his future father-in-law.

A moment later, Cosette's high pitched scream has Marius and Valjean both on their feet. They rush to the front door, only to find Cosette with her arms thrown around a very familiar-looking figure.

"Enjolras?" says Marius in disbelief. There is no mistaking the golden curls and hard blue gaze. Marius doesn't know how or why, but Enjolras is standing in the doorway with his cane and his carpetbag. He should be overwhelmingly happy to see his friend and he is, but he also has half a mind to deck Enjolras for leaving them the way he did in the first place.

"What are you doing here?" asks Cosette in delight. "Why didn't you write and tell us you were coming?"

Enjolras smiles sheepishly.

"It was a last minute decision. I…something happened and I knew I had to come back. For good – I've brought all my things." He looks at Marius uncertainly. "If you'll take me back, that is?"

"Of course," Marius chokes out. He might be slightly angry with Enjolras, but he would never deny him his old room. Angry or not, he's thrilled that Enjolras has decided to come back and in time to attend the wedding, too.

"Let's get your things back to your room," says Cosette with one of the biggest smiles Marius has ever seen. She loops her arm through Enjolras's and helps him up the stairs – Marius notices that he still hasn't mastered stairs in the three weeks since his departure, although he doesn't seem to be struggling quite as much – while Valjean carries up the luggage before excusing himself elsewhere to give some privacy. Marius follows to Enjolras's room with nothing to do to help.

Enjolras is quickly settled back into his old bed. Cosette insists that he rests from his journey while she and Marius put his clothes away, but he defies her slightly by sitting up against his pillows instead of laying down as she wishes.

"How is everyone?" asks Enjolras. "Have I missed anything?"

Marius looks at Cosette as he refolds a white shirt to put in the dresser. She gives Marius a sad smile and a shrug of her shoulders that says she doesn't know what to tell him either. He seems to be in a well enough mood, but Marius is sure that won't last if they tell him they've been miserable because of his absence. Besides, Marius is more interested in finding out why Enjolras is back than making small talk about how everyone is.

"It's been busy with the wedding being a week away," says Cosette. She doesn't look at Enjolras as she hangs up one of his signature red jackets. "But we've been managing. Marius's grandfather is in Avignon right now to fetch some cousins that will be attending. How have _you_ been? Did you have a nice stay with your parents?"

Marius doesn't miss Enjolras's brief moment of hesitation.

"Pleasurable enough, although I don't think my father was too thrilled to see me. Combeferre's parents came by to give me some of his things." The last part is directed at Marius. Hearing Combeferre's name surprises him; he jumps a little and knocks his head against the dresser. He and Enjolras have not specifically spoken of their friends since the barricade. Thankfully, Cosette spares him from having to respond.

"Oh, that reminds me! Musichetta stopped by last week. She wanted to speak with you. I told her you were out of town, but that I would send for her when you returned," she says. Now it is Enjolras's turn to look surprised, and Marius can't blame him after the fiasco at the Musain. He was fairly caught off guard himself when Musichetta turned up last week, even more so when he realized the box in her arms was filled with Grantaire's possessions. Cosette must have left out that part on purpose, but Musichetta had told Marius that the drunken cynic asked her to give his things to the surviving Amis members – Enjolras being the top choice – or to throw it all away if every member perished.

"Oh," Enjolras manages to get out. He clears his throat, clearly buying time to collect himself. "Right, I'll send a letter tomorrow to tell her I'm back."

At this point, Marius and Cosette have unpacked all of Enjolras's things, including an unfamiliar bag that Enjolras had asked to keep packed and Marius suspects contains Combeferre's possessions.

"We'll leave you to rest now. I'll come see how you're doing at dinnertime – perhaps you can join us," announces Cosette. She is positively glowing in the aftermath of Enjolras's return. She kisses his cheek and practically glides out of the bedroom. Marius, too, goes to leave, but turns back around at the door. He stands there awkwardly for a moment with his hands shoved in his trouser pockets, trying to figure out the proper thing to say.

"It's good to have you back, Enjolras," he finally says with a smile. There is a lot more than that, but Enjolras smiles back at him and that's enough for now.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside from a short epilogue, this will be the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed. :)

Chapter Twenty

When Valjean awakes on the day of his daughter's wedding, he cannot believe that the date has finally arrived or that he is actually here for it. Months ago, he would have assumed he'd be hiding in a convent somewhere on this day. Weeks ago, he would have assumed that Enjolras would miss out on this day. But none of that is the case. The wedding day is here and so is everyone who is meant to witness it.

Well, almost everyone. A pang of sadness hits Valjean when he thinks of how happy Fantine would be to see her only daughter get married. Another comes when he thinks of the joy that would have emanated from Marius's rowdy but sweet revolutionary friends. There are pieces missing from this wedding, for sure, but Valjean thinks it will be quite a happy occasion nonetheless.

He goes downstairs to eat breakfast before dressing in his suit, and finds Cosette sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea and a pastry. She smiles at him upon his entry, taking his hand when he sits next to her.

"You're up early, _ma petite_ ," he says softly. Cosette shrugs and continues to smile.

"I could hardly sleep last night," she replies. "It just seemed sensible to get up and start the day instead of laying around."

"Not getting cold feet, are we?" Valjean makes sure there is teasing in his voice, but he hopes to get a serious answer. If Cosette is nervous at all, he wants to know. After all, it's his fault she's been so sheltered all her life. That means it's his fault if she's anxious about starting a life with someone her own age instead of spending all her time with her father. But luckily she shakes her head confidently.

"Absolutely not. It's excitement, not nerves. Although, I am a bit afraid to meet the rest of Marius's family," admits Cosette sheepishly. Valjean squeezes her hand and gives her his best smile, the kind where even his eyes crinkle in joy.

"Don't fret – they'll love you from the moment they lay eyes on you. Just as I did and just as Marius did."

Cosette throws her arms around her father and clings to him for as long as she can. Valjean savors the moment because, despite sticking around in her life for now, he knows they won't have as many of these after she is married.

"Thank you, Papa," she says sincerely. "I don't know what I'd have done without you all these years. You've done so well, raising me and caring for me. I couldn't have asked for a better man to be my father."

Tears are welling up in Cosette's large blue eyes; Valjean feels a few prickling at his own. He has no words to answer her – his love for her is beyond words.

"Your mother would be so proud of you," he manages to choke out. A tear slips down Cosette's face as she hugs Valjean again and kisses his cheek sweetly.

"I love you, Papa."

"I love you, too, _ma petite_."

* * *

Marius, on the other hand, is more nervous than he's ever been. He's not nervous to marry Cosette – on the contrary, he can't wait to call her his wife – but he _is_ nervous to face all the people he knows Grandfather has invited. He has never been very popular in his family or with their friends. They all saw him as his father's son and disliked him for it. He's petrified that they will still treat him poorly – or worse, that they will treat Cosette poorly. Marius absolutely will not stand for that.

For now, he tries to push those thoughts out of his mind and focuses on tying his white silk cravat. It's the finishing touch on his wedding attire – white cravat and cummerbund, black jacket and trousers. When he's completely finished, from combing his hair to putting on his shiny black shoes, he makes his way over to Enjolras's room to see if his best man needs any help. Enjolras is doing better for sure, but he still tires easily and struggles with getting his pants over his thigh wound.

When he enters Enjolras's room, the man is already completely dressed in an outfit that is identical to Marius's but with a royal blue cravat instead of a white one. Marius thought Cosette had bought him a pale pink one to match the color scheme of the decorations, but he's too pleased that Enjolras has managed on his own to question it. However, Enjolras smiles bitter sweetly and gestures down to the cravat upon Marius's entry.

"I know it's not the cravat I'm intended to wear," he says apologetically, "but it's Combeferre's. His parents gave it to me. I thought it might be a nice touch, seeing as…well, since none of them can be here. I hope Cosette won't be angry."

Marius finds that he can't speak right away. He's touched that Enjolras would think about including their friends in this special day. He certainly hasn't prepared anything. Cosette suggested lighting candles in remembrance of them during the ceremony, but Marius didn't want any sadness to fall over the wedding so they agreed to save the candles for the year anniversary of the barricade. But this way, Enjolras's way, Combeferre – and by extension, all of the Amis – will be up at the altar with him.

"She won't be," he finally says thickly. "She'll love it."

They stay there in silence for a few minutes, Enjolras sitting on the bed and Marius standing in the doorway. Marius doesn't miss the way the chief is nervously wringing his hands, and is about to ask him about it when he offers an explanation himself.

"Marius, I'm glad I came back to be here for the wedding, but I…it doesn't feel right being your best man," says Enjolras quietly. Marius feels his heart drop – after everything they've been through, Enjolras can't back out now.

"I…but you said you'd do it," replies Marius helplessly. It sounds childish, but he doesn't know what else to say.

"I know. But it's not _right_. I don't belong up there with you and we both know it. It should be Courfeyrac or Bossuet or, hell, _anyone_ but me. I was never a good friend to you. I was impatient with you, I criticized you for not dedicating your whole life to Les Amis as I had. I don't deserve to stand next to you on the most important day of your life," rants Enjolras. Marius bites his lip, is silent for only a second, and then composes what he needs to say to convince Enjolras. He hopes it works because he's getting married in an hour and does not have the time to fight Enjolras on this.

"You're wrong," he begins, and Enjolras looks as if he's going to interrupt so Marius keeps going before he does. "I mean, you're right that I would have chosen someone else had the situation permitted it. That's only because Courfeyrac and Bossuet were my closest friends. But you are wrong when you say you don't deserve to be my best man. Sure, we didn't see eye to eye before and I guarantee we still wouldn't if we discussed politics, but you've been with me throughout this whole nightmare."

Enjolras laughs hollowly.

"I didn't do anything for you. I've been a mess for months. You've had to deal with all of my issues."

"But you're alive and that's always been enough for me, to know that at least one of my friends survives. You might not agree, but I think this whole thing has brought us closer, brought you and Cosette closer, and we want you up there with us on the most important day of our lives. You're like a brother to both of us, and you have no idea how relieved we were when you came back because that meant it was possible again for you to be with us," finishes Marius. At first, Enjolras doesn't respond. Then he starts to nod slowly.

"Okay," he says. "Okay. I suppose we should be off soon, shouldn't we?"

Marius breathes and agrees that they should. Enjolras puts the finishing touches on his attire by tying his long curls back into a ponytail with a black ribbon, then reaches for his cane. The pair slowly heads down the stairs and out to the fiacre that will take them to the church where Cosette is waiting – where Marius's beautiful future is waiting.

* * *

Enjolras has never been to a wedding before. His parents wouldn't take him to family friend weddings because they thought he'd be disruptive, and all of his cousins were married after he'd broken ties with the family. But, standing next to Marius and watching the guests rise for Cosette's impending arrival, weddings are something he thinks he could get used to.

Cosette enters through high double doors, clutching Valjean's arm and looking like an angel. She is more radiant than Enjolras has ever seen her; she is sporting a white lace gown with puffy sleeves, white flowers in her blonde hair that take the place of a veil, and the happiest smile. Simply put, she's beautiful.

Enjolras glances over at Marius. He's staring at Cosette as if she is the only person in the entire world, with eyes full of love, desire, and affection. He's seen that look before. It was the one on Grantaire's face when he offered up his life alongside Enjolras's…

But Enjolras won't think of Grantaire now. It hurts too much and he doesn't want to be sad in this moment. He wants to watch Cosette glide breathtakingly down the aisle and be happy for his friends when they intertwine their lives forever. There will be plenty of more convenient times in the years to come to think about Grantaire.

Valjean gives Cosette away, she and Marius exchange vows and seal their love with a kiss, and then it's reception time. The reception is held in the Gillenormand mansion, but Enjolras stays back in the shadows for most of it. He's tired from standing for the whole ceremony even with the support of the cane and, besides, he's sure no one wants to speak to him. The majority of the guests are Marius's family or his grandfather's friends, and they've all heard of what happened at the barricade. From what Marius has said about them, Enjolras figures they don't exactly agree with Enjolras's viewpoints. He doesn't really fancy getting up on his soap box to spout reasons why they should support his ideals either, so he allows one dance with Cosette at the beginning and then keeps to himself in the parlor. No one bothers him, confirming what he already knew.

No one bothers him, that is, until Musichetta manages to find him. He knew she was going to be here – she wrote him back saying that they could speak at the wedding – but he's been avoiding seeing her. He is still embarrassed about the trouble he caused her at the Musain, and he's sure that she'll want to discuss their deceased friends, something he is not yet ready to do.

But she finds him anyway about an hour into the reception and beelines to come sit with him. To Enjolras's surprise, she is carrying a decent sized box.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere, I was starting to think you were hiding from me," she greets good-naturedly. Enjolras laughs nervously, trying to conceal the fact that that was exactly what he was doing.

"How are you, 'Chetta?" he asks politely. The smile she gives him is less sad than the one he received weeks ago at the Musain – it is more bittersweet than anything.

"Better, honestly. It's still hard, but it gets better with time," she replies. "And you?"

Enjolras shrugs. In some aspects he's better, but in others he is just as bad as he was before he left.

"It's complicated," he settles for. He knows Musichetta's dark eyes are staring at him questionably, but he ignores her gaze and she doesn't press the matter. Instead, she passes him the sealed box she carried over.

"I know this is going to be hard for you," she says quietly. "Giving it to you is difficult enough for me."

"What is it?" asks Enjolras nervously. He doesn't want to open the box, unprepared for what's inside. Musichetta sighs.

"A lot of the boys wrote me lists before you all went to the barricade. Lists of what to do with their possessions if they died. Feuilly's was the easiest to follow – he didn't have anyone to leave things to, so he just asked that all his fan making tools be given to the shop he worked at. Joly and Bossuet were afraid their families would get a hold of their things before I could, so they gave me what they wanted me to have before they left. They said they'd just take it back if they didn't…well, anyway, they made sure I had what they wanted me to have. And then there was Grantaire. He said that his parents wouldn't want him or his things, which was true because I ended up claiming his body after…after everything. He said that his friends were the only ones who cared about him, so he wanted them to have his dearest possessions. His letter said to give them to any surviving Amis…but that you, Enjolras, were to be prioritized over everyone," explains Musichetta. Enjolras just stares at her numbly, unable to react at what she's just told him.

"W-what?" he forces out. Musichetta looks down at the box in his lap.

"R said that if you made it out alive, he wanted you to be given his things before anyone else," she repeats. Enjolras's gaze shifts down to the box. He doesn't know what to make of this. Grantaire wanted _Enjolras_ , who always spoke condescendingly to the cynic and never truly gave him the time of day, to have his most precious possessions.

Because he loved him. It always comes back to that.

Enjolras's fingers fumble with the lid of the box. When he opens it, the first thing he sees is a shiny first place boxing medal. He didn't know Grantaire boxed. He takes it out to examine it briefly before setting it aside in favor of continuing to sift through the box. There is a book about Greek mythology, which makes sense since Grantaire's favorite nickname for Enjolras was Apollo, and a black notebook on top of something wrapped in paper. Enjolras opens the notebook to discover that it is actually a sketchbook. There is something scribbled on each page from simple flower sketches to detailed drawings of every Les Amis member, including Enjolras. _Especially_ Enjolras. As he flips through the pages, he realizes how often Grantaire drew him. There are drawings of him as a Greek god, giving speeches, scribbling down notes, even one where he looks as if he is about to fall asleep.

Enjolras shuts the sketchbook. Every picture depicts him as being perfect. Flawless. That's how Grantaire saw him. But if only he knew all of Enjolras's flaws…would he still have worshipped him? Would he have still died for him or would he be here right now with Enjolras?

The last thing in the box is a canvas, carefully wrapped in paper to avoid any damage. Enjolras gently lifts it out and removes the paper. Tears fill his eyes upon seeing it. It's a painting of a Les Amis meeting. Enjolras is front and center in his favorite red coat, passion flooding his face as he clearly gives some sort of speech. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are on either side of him, watching him intensely. Bahorel, Feuilly, and Jehan are seated together at another table – Bahorel and Feuilly are watching Enjolras, but Jehan is scribbling poetry on his own arm as he often did. Joly, Bossuet, and Marius are at yet another table, but none of them seem to be listening to Enjolras. Joly and Bossuet are too absorbed in each other, and Marius seems to be in deep thought, probably about Cosette. Then, lastly, there's Grantaire sitting at his table in the back, partially hidden in the shadows and nursing a bottle but still gazing adoringly at Enjolras. If he hadn't been scanning the picture so carefully, he might've missed the artist completely. Enjolras frowns. He loves the picture, as painful as it is, because it gives him something of all his friends to hold on to, but how could Grantaire think so little of himself? Enjolras is the center of attention, the light in the Café, while Grantaire was sure to make himself barely noticeable.

Enjolras wishes he had the chance to tell Grantaire how much he was worth, how special he was. He should have told him while he still could.

"Enjolras, maybe we should go somewhere else." Musichetta's concerned voice brings Enjolras back to reality and makes him realize that tears are slipping down his face. He puts the canvas back in the box and wipes his eyes quickly. He won't cry anymore, not at Marius and Cosette's wedding.

"No, it's okay. I'm fine," he assures her. "And 'Chetta? Thank you for bringing this to me."

Having these things means more to him than she could ever know.

* * *

Cosette doesn't think any day for the rest of her life could ever top this day. Her wedding is everything she wanted and more, and she's so happy. She feels beautiful in the dress she chose, Marius's family has been nothing but kind to her, and she even convinced Enjolras to dance with her once. It was short and they couldn't move very much because of his bad leg, but it was more than Cosette imagined she would get.

Now the wedding is drawing to a close, and Cosette finds that she is ready for her guests to leave so that she might share a private moment with her new husband. She and Marius have been glued together for most of the reception, but they've also been with other people the entire time. There hasn't been a second for them to stop and appreciate their new life together.

By eight o'clock, most of the guests have already left, and Marius and Cosette bid the stragglers goodbye. When everyone has left, they retire to the parlor where Enjolras, Papa, and M. Gillenormand are sitting. Enjolras has a large box sitting beside his cane on the floor, which Cosette eyes curiously but does not ask about. She has a feeling it has to do with why Musichetta wanted to see him, and she does not want to bring up anything that will dim the end of her perfect wedding. They can talk about it later if Enjolras wants to.

For a few minutes, the five of them sit there in peaceful silence. Then Papa announces that he's off to bed, kisses Cosette's forehead, and wishes the couple congratulations once more. Enjolras joins him since he still needs a bit of support going up the stairs. Papa carries his box out of the room while he limps over to Marius and Cosette to offer them a genuine smile along with more well wishes. After that, it's not long before M. Gillenormand tells Marius he's proud of him, causing Marius's face to turn bright red, and leaves as well.

"Are you ready for bed?" asks Cosette contentedly. The way Marius looks at her, with such love, has her blushing as well. He intertwines his fingers with hers and leans in to softly kiss her lips.

"Yes, let's go," he replies. They rise and head for Marius's bedroom, now _their_ bedroom, hand in hand.

For the first time in a long time, Cosette feels that everything is finally right again.


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! College is crazy. But we've reached the end. Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this fic - you don't know how much it means to be. Enjoy this last chapter and I hope to cross paths with all of you again for another fic!

            When Enjolras wakes on the morning of June 5, 1833, he doesn’t quite realize what day it is. For a split second, there is peace as if it were any other day, but it doesn’t take too long for him to remember after that. Flashbacks begin to race through his mind as soon as he remembers – the funeral, an innocent bystander shot, building the barricade, and blood, so much blood…

            But Enjolras will not cry. Not now. Today might be the first anniversary of the barricade, but it is not the anniversary of his friends’ deaths yet. He will save his tears for tomorrow. That’s when he’ll truly need them.

            He dresses silently and makes his way downstairs. He’s gotten much better at handling stairs on his own as long as he has his cane. The house has been quiet since Marius and Cosette moved to their own apartment a few weeks ago, despite how often they visit since it’s only a ten-minute walk. M. Gillenormand and Valjean are both still asleep, but that’s fine. Enjolras needs some time alone because neither man will understand what he is feeling today and tomorrow. Sure, Valjean was at the barricade and witnessed deaths, but he did not know most of the deceased. He was only there for Marius, and Marius lives. Marius, the only one who will have even an inkling of how Enjolras must be feeling.

            Yes, it’s better that Enjolras eats his breakfast alone.

            After breakfast, he is eventually joined in the parlor by the other men of the house. Valjean asks if he’s alright, to which he says yes even if it’s a lie, and no more is said for the time being. Enjolras sits there, absorbing the silence as M. Gillenormand reads the paper and Valjean drinks some tea, and wishes he lived on his own again. He misses the privacy of it, being able to hide away in his room without interruption if he felt he couldn’t face the world. But his old apartment has already been leased to another tenant given his long absence, and Enjolras doesn’t think he’d be allowed to leave anyway. Despite it being an entire year later, Dr. Bonhomme, Valjean, M. Gillenormand, and Cosette all agree that Enjolras still needs help from time to time – physically and mentally – which renders him incapable of caring for himself.

            After twenty minutes of uncomfortable sitting in the parlor, Enjolras excuses himself to his room. He just can’t handle pretending like everything is fine anymore. No one questions his actions, although Valjean does look a little concerned, and Enjolras even lets a few tears fall once he’s alone. He said he wouldn’t cry, but today is turning out to be just as difficult as he imagines tomorrow will be.

            Today is the reason his friends are all dead. Today is his fault. The barricade was too much too soon – France wasn’t ready for that kind of change yet. If Enjolras had seen that, if he’d bided his time and thrown his efforts into some more peaceful protests, things could have been different. Perhaps his friends would still be here with him. This day could have been one for celebration rather than grief.

            But what’s done is done. Enjolras must accept that and move forward, even if it will always hurt a little.

            His feelings the next day are a little different.

            When he wakes up on the morning of June 6th, after a rough night full of nightmares, Enjolras finds that he can’t get out of bed. His friends’ deaths replay over and over in his mind as he lays there, staring at the ceiling. Tears brim in his eyes but do not fall just yet. In the early hours of this morning, one year ago, he was with his friends for the last time. He drank with them, laughed with them, for the last time. And then he was forced to say goodbye to them…

            “Enjolras?” A knock at the door combined with the calling of his name pulls Enjolras back to the present. The voice is Valjean, but Enjolras cannot get out of bed to answer. He wonders if his door is unlocked; the question is answered a moment later when he hears Valjean enter.

            “Enjolras, it’s four o’clock,” says Valjean. Enjolras continues to stare at the ceiling. “Marius and Cosette will be here in an hour for dinner. I know today is difficult, perhaps more so than yesterday, but perhaps you could dress and join us.”

            _He doesn’t know_. That’s all Enjolras can think. Valjean has no idea how hard this day is for him. He cannot possibly know what it feels like to watch the life leave everyone you care about, and then have to relive it a thousand times. And, in light of all that, dinner doesn’t seem very important.

            “No,” utters Enjolras. That’s all he has the energy to say. Valjean sighs audibly.

            “Enjolras, please, we can’t go down this road again.” He means the depression. Anger twinges within Enjolras, and he musters the energy to sit up and look Valjean in the eye.

            “We aren’t going down ‘this road’ again,” says Enjolras in a low, cold voice. “I will be fine tomorrow. But today? Today I cannot get out of bed, I cannot get dressed, I cannot eat because I am mourning the best friends I have ever been privileged enough to have. So please leave me be today.”

            Silence.

            “Just consider it,” says Valjean quietly, and then he’s gone.

            _Consider it_. Enjolras doesn’t want to, but he also can’t help it. He doesn’t feel like he is capable of getting out of bed, of pretending that life is anywhere close to normal today, but is that fair to Marius and Cosette? Surely it is a difficult day for Marius, too, so he could use the support of his only living friend. Enjolras is being selfish in denying him that.

            He forces himself out of bed. At this point, he can dress without the help of his cane, and he proceeds to do so now. He takes a minute to collect himself, grabs his cane, and goes downstairs. Valjean is in the kitchen, overseeing the preparation of tonight’s dinner. Enjolras enters hesitantly; the thud of his cane on the kitchen tile alerts Valjean to his presence.

            “Enjolras,” he says with a smile. “I’m glad you reconsidered.”

            Enjolras just gives a little shrug before exiting to go to the dining room where he will await Marius and Cosette. He’s doing this for them, not for Valjean and certainly not for himself. He doesn’t need this, but they do.

            At exactly five o’clock, Enjolras hears M. Gillenormand greeting his grandson and granddaughter in-law. He braces himself for what might be yet to come, unsure of how Marius and Cosette will treat him on this day; he even finds that he’s holding his breath when the pair enter the dining room.

            “Enjolras!” Cosette’s voice is pure joy as she throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his chest and holding on tight. The fact that her embrace doesn’t hurt is a testament to how far Enjolras has come in the past few months.

            “Hello, Cosette,” he replies quietly but lovingly. She detaches herself from him and looks at him with a glowing smile. He finds that this drops his mood – why is she so happy on such a terrible day?

            Marius, on the other hand, looks appropriately mournful. He gives Enjolras a subdued greeting, then takes his place at the table without another word. For once, Enjolras finds that Marius is currently the least annoying person he knows. He understands some of the pain Enjolras is feeling and he is smart enough to leave Enjolras mostly alone.

            Dinner is a quiet affair. M. Gillenormand and Valjean both know that Enjolras and Marius are not up for much conversation; Cosette still has a smile on her face, but she too can sense that no one is feeling particularly chatty. When everyone has cleared their plate – or, in Enjolras’s case, decently picked at their food – the group moves to the parlor. There are ten candles on top of the fireplace – one for each of their friends to die at the barricade.

            _There should be eleven_. That’s all that runs through Enjolras’s mind as he stares at the candles while those around him make polite conversation. He doesn’t usually think that anymore; he’s accepted that he lived while his friends died. But today? Today he wishes he was dead with them. There will be time tomorrow to feel grateful to be alive.

            “Shall we light the candles now?” Valjean’s question pulls Enjolras out of his grief-stricken thoughts. He’s looking at him expectantly, like it only matters if Enjolras is ready. It reminds him of his days as the Chief of Les Amis when every decision was ultimately up to him – even when it came to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who were supposed to be his right hand men.

            _“There’s more men! There’s more men, Enjolras!”_ He remembers the desperation in Combeferre’s voice during their moments together, begging Enjolras to tell the remaining Amis what to do to get out of the situation alive. That was one of the few times in his life he wished he wasn’t the leader, wished he was anybody other than who he was.

            “Yes, let’s begin.” His own voice sounds wooden and stiff. He won’t even pretend he doesn’t see the look of concern on Valjean’s face as he limps forward to the fireplace.

            Valjean hands each of them a box of matches. The plan is to light a candle for each of the deceased, saying their names as they do so. Enjolras and Marius have both asked to light the candles for those they were closest to, and the rest will be divided up between Cosette, Valjean, and M. Gillenormand. Enjolras doesn’t quite approve of this method since he was close with all of them except for Eponine, but he doesn’t want to make such a special moment problematic so he keeps his mouth shut.

            “Eponine,” says Marius softly, lighting the first candle. She was the first to fall, so it is only appropriate to light hers first.

            “Gavroche.” Valjean lights the next candle. Emotion starts to well up in Enjolras at the little gamin’s name; he’s going to cry before this is over. God, he is so tired of crying.

            “Combeferre.” It’s Enjolras’s turn now, and his voice shakes as he lights a candle for one of his very best friends.

            “Bossuet.” Marius lights another candle.

            “Joly.” Cosette lights her first candle, followed by M. Gillenormand’s first candle with “Bahorel”.

            “Courfeyrac.” Enjolras lights a second candle for his other very best friend and feels one tear slip down his cheek. Cosette reaches over to squeeze his free hand while Valjean lights a candle for “Feuilly”, only letting go when it’s her turn to light one for “Jehan”.

            There’s only one unlit candle left, and it’s Enjolras’s job to light that one.

            “G-Grantaire.” The words barely come out of Enjolras’s mouth. He fumbles with the match, but his hands are too shaky this time. Because he can only think of how Grantaire would still be alive if it weren’t for Enjolras. If he hadn’t been in love with Enjolras, he’d have drunkenly slept through the whole affair and walked away alive. Marius reaches out gently and takes the match from Enjolras, lighting the candle for him.

            “Grantaire,” repeats Marius more firmly. Silent tears start to flow down Enjolras’s cheeks as the others recite a prayer for their lost friends and comrades. As soon as it’s finished, Enjolras turns away from the candles to go sit on the sofa. Cosette follows him and sits beside him, taking his hands in hers and rubbing them soothingly.

            “Enjolras, I know this has been a difficult day and I’m so proud of you for getting through it,” she coos, wiping his tears away. “I have some good news that I think will lift everyone’s spirits. I haven’t told anyone this – not even you, Marius.”

            This grabs everyone’s attention, including Enjolras despite how distraught he may be. Cosette takes a deep breath and smiles.

            “I’m expecting a child,” she says. For a moment, everyone just looks at her. Enjolras himself isn’t sure he heard her correctly. Then Marius lets out a strangled squeal and pulls his bride into a hug.

            “Cosette, that’s wonderful!” he cries, and Enjolras is finally able to comprehend what she’s just said. _She’s going to have a baby_. He joins Valjean and M. Gillenormand in offering his congratulations to her. For the first time in two days, there is a genuine light and happiness flooding throughout the room.

            The fact that new life can come about on a day of such loss gives Enjolras some hope that the future _will_ be bright after all.


End file.
